


takes two to love

by agrestenoir



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, Identity Issues, Identity Reveal, Marichat, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Poor Life Choices, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2020-05-18 15:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19337215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agrestenoir/pseuds/agrestenoir
Summary: In which Lila claims to be dating Chat Noir, Adrien can't date himself but volunteers Marinette to do the job instead, and Marinette just wants to eat her fucking croissant.(Lila lies, Adrien panics, and apparently Marinette is dating Chat Noir now.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From one of my AU posts that I finally made real after several long days angsting over these idiot's pining and stupidity. Hope you enjoy, and feel free to hit me up at @agrestenoir to talk shit about this fic, explode over these characters, or talk to me in general.

For what it’s worth, Adrien would like it to be known that he has never _once_ done anything wrong in his entire life. 

In the annual review from his father, he’s noted as the “epitome of perfection” (though with side notes: _could be better_ ). He’s in the Top 10 of the Parisian tabloids “Sweetest Celebrities”. Even the Ladyblog’s viewership voted him “Least Likely to Be Akumatized” last month. In all honesty, Adrien Agreste lives and breathes the whole halo-and-wings uniform, and some swear that celestial hymns are heard wherever he goes. 

If you asked Adrien, he’d tell you that the evidence speaks for itself: he has not, and never will, cause trouble. 

…that doesn’t mean trouble doesn’t _happen_ though.

Because it does. It actually happens _a lot_.

That’s sort of what happens when you wield the Black Cat miraculous, he figures. No matter how much sunshine runs through your veins, darkness always creeps into the pallor of skin and the silence between heartbeats. It’s not something he can control, even though he’s spent the last few years trying, so all Adrien’s left with is the product of bad luck and cataclysms. 

Basically, it goes like this: Adrien’s been screwed from the moment he was born. 

That’s why when he ends up in situations like this, trapped between his secret identity and a girl, where he’s not left with many options other than to 1) lie, 2) embarrass himself, 3) distract, 4) panic and then 5) …lie _really well_ (not always in that specific order, mind you).   

For all intents and purposes, it hadn’t started off as a bad day—things were actually looking up. His father is on a business trip to London for the rest of the week, Nino and he are going to the movies after school, and he and Marinette have planned a video game marathon this Saturday. But then Lila Rossi waltzs into the classroom with that charismatic smile and glittering eyes, all beautiful and deadly in a way that was _way too_ dangerous, and lights the match on the latest clusterfuck of a forest fire to burn down his life in a few words.

“Of course I have a boyfriend,” she’s telling Alya over textbooks and breakfast. “Like it’s nothing _official_ , but we’re basically dating at this point.” She slips that easy smile onto her face, dazzling anyone caught in her trap. “You can only kiss and tell so many times before _something else_ , you know?” 

Adrien doesn’t mean to listen to her (doesn’t particularly even _want_ to), but he can only absently reread the assigned reading before it turns monotonous and his body practically _forces_ him to be distracted. Unfortunately, Lila’s conversation registers before the _thud thud thud_ of Marinette hustling into the room with two croissants, a coffee cup, and a feral look in her eyes that reads of unnamed horrors and the looming fear of tardiness. 

If it had been three seconds earlier, Adrien would have happily turned to his friend when she entered and asked (read: interrogated) her for the story regarding her latest conundrum (because with Marinette, there _always_ is one). But, like he mentioned earlier, Adrien Agreste is a victim of bad luck on a regular basis, and today is certainly no different. 

“Who could you have _possibly_ been kissing?” Alya asks Lila, the quizzical expression basically trademark of the young investigative journalist. From his spot behind them, he can see the curiosity glinting like a sharp knife in the light, poised to strike. 

“No one special, honestly.” Lila crosses her arms against her chest, Cheshire grin stretching even wider. (Adrien wonders if that hurts her face at all). 

“Come on,” Alya says. She pokes the other girl in the shoulder and laughs. “You _always_ have a story to tell, so don’t clam up now.” 

Lila shakes her head, shoulder trembling, though Adrien can’t tell if it’s due to amusement or excitement. It’s one of the biggest thing that bothers him about Lila Rossi: he can never get a read on her. Body language and expressions have always been an open book to him, having spent much of his time watching instead of doing as he grew up, that he’s normally always able to read a person’s story with ease. Lila, however, is an ever-shifting enigma to him: he’s never able to tell.

“ _Lila_.” Alya’s voice drawls out, long and loud. Beside her, Marinette tosses back her coffee like a shot and follows it up with a huge chunk of croissant, crumps stuck to the front of her blouse. “Come on.”

“Fine, fine, fine.” This time, she giggles and clasps a quick hand over her mouth, eyes skittering across the classroom for any potential onlookers. She’s not discrete though; Adrien knows enough to pick up on this, at least. She’s subtle in a way that calls attention to herself, and, as he should have realized sooner, this was Lila’s goal all along. 

Lila leans closer to Alya’s eager ear and whispers (read: at fucking regular volume), “I’m dating Chat Noir.”

 

… 

…

 

Adrien has never believed in bad luck until he became Chat Noir. Sometimes he wishes that Plagg had been completely honest the day he accepted the Black Cat miraculous about what the powers of destruction entailed, but then against, even with some curse following him around, he probably wouldn’t change anything. So he’s forced to live every day as it comes: finding calm in the calamity. 

Right now, though? Right now, he’s decided he’s going to tie Plagg up in a drawstring bag and throw him into the Seine when he gets home because this is a cruel and unnecessary form of torture. 

Do you know that earth-shattering roar that starts as silence and gradually builds into a crescendo of sound until it’s nearly deafening? Because Adrien can’t hear past that: _I’m dating Chat Noir, I’m dating Chat Noir, I’m dating Chat Noir_ ….

Realistically, he should have known she was lying (because that’s what Lila _does_ ), but the panic sets into his brain before sense does, and all Adrien can do is open his mouth and say, “You are?” 

( _Why didn’t anyone tell me?_ is his next thought, and he nearly smacks himself in the face for it.) 

“Of course, I am,” Lila says, obviously not prepared for _Adrien_ to be the one to follow her up on the statement. Flabbergasted, Alya stares at the other girl, for once at a loss for words, and the rest of the class is quickly tuning in (because they’re all fucking vultures when it comes to Parisian heroes, god, teenagers are worse than paparazzies). “Do you think I’d make something like that up?” 

If Adrien were a smarter man, he would’ve just left her alone instead of calling her bluff, but to be honest, he was voted “Sweetest Celebrity”… not Smartest. “Yeah, I do.”

The musings and side comments of the entire class quiets. Eyes linger on him and Lila with a ferocity he hasn’t seen since the rare Ladybug collectibles were released to the general public. Alya still hasn’t responded, and Lila burns with a fire he has no hope to putting out. Marinette’s still munching on her croissant and desperately cramming the assigned reading into her brain before class starts.

“You lie about a lot of things, Lila,” he points out even though his voice trembles, his hands tremble, his brain trembles. _Danger, danger, Will Robinson_. “I’m just not sure why we should believe you this time.” For a brief flash of insanity, Adrien has to check that he hasn’t astral projected into Marinette’s body because this seems like something she’d do, and he wonders when he picked up her temperament towards Lila Rossi. 

“Because it’s true,” Lila points out simply. In a fluid motion, the seventeen-year-old pulls down the collar of her shirt, showing the dark bruise along her collar bone. “Where else would I have gotten this?” 

“Probably from the diplomat’s son at my father’s hotel.” Chloe’s voice, bored and monotone, sounds from the front of the classroom; she doesn’t even look up from the magazine she’s currently flipping through. “I’ve seen you go in and out of his room all week.” 

“Excuse me?” Lila’s cheeks are flushed with streaks of red. “How would you know that? Are you stalking his hotel room, Chloe—” 

“If you’re trying to imply something, Rossi,” Chloe interjects, “I’m gonna stop you right there. I’m way too gay for your shit.” 

There’s silence that lingers between them, everyone too afraid to say a word. Marinette’s _slurp_ of coffee is the only thing heard. 

“Besides,” Adrien tries again, even though he should probably stop while he’s ahead, “Why would Chat Noir be dating you? He doesn’t seem like the type of person to put a civilian in danger.” 

“Because I’m worth it,” Lila retorts hotly. “And if you keep going on about this, Adrien, I’ll have to assume you’re just jealous of us.”

Adrien shakes his head, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “You aren’t dating Chat Noir!” 

“And how would you know?!” Lila stands up in a flourish, hands tightening into white-knuckled fists at her side. 

Adrien suddenly finds himself thrown for a loop, and his mind blanks as he fumbles for an explanation. No proof, no evidence, nothing to back up his claim: he’s basically screwed at this point. What else can he say though? _Secret identities_ , he reminds himself, _there’s only so much you can do_. The way he sees it, he’s only left with three options for how he should proceed. 

One: Adrien Agreste says _he’s_ dating Chat Noir. (Pros: he can control any rumors and lying would be pretty simple considering they’re the same person. Cons: he’d had to endure Chloe’s wrath that he didn’t say anything when she came out, and it would include a very awkward conversation with his father.)

Two: Adrien lets Lila have her way. (Pros: he won’t have to deal with it anymore but just endure the tarnished reputation of Chat Noir. Cons: he’s a stubborn ass and there’s no way he’d ever do that. If he hasn’t caved to Hawkmoth yet, he certainly won’t cave for Lila Rossi.) 

Three: Adrien has Chat Noir date someone who he actually likes. (Pros: the person would be someone he trusted, so it’s give him some control over the rumors and gossip that follows. Cons: the only person he actually likes who deals with Chat Noir on a regular basis is Ladybug, and she’d never go for that.)

 

… and… 

His mind freezes, his mouth runs before he can process anything. _Fuck secret identities_ , he apparently thinks, even though there’s no room for thinking right now. (He certainly isn’t if this is the option he goes with.)

“Because Chat Noir is dating Marinette.” 

The sound of a coffee cup hitting the floor echoes through the room, and Marinette, who chooses that _exact fucking moment_ to become privy to the conversation, stares at him, wide-eyed with a croissant stuffed in her mouth, and speaks three words that will haunt him for the rest of his existence. “ _What le fuck_?” 

Crumbs dribble onto her blouse again. She doesn’t notice. 

Instead, she stares at him with those soul-bearing crystal eyes that send icy shivers down his spine, and his face just burns and burns and burns. “Y-Yeah,” he squeaks out. “I-It’s okay to admit it, Mari. Y-You’re dating m-m… Chat Noir.” 

He gulps in terror. Marinette’s going to kill him when this is all over; he _knows_ it. 

But the only thing he can do right now is plead with her, whole heart and all, eyes wide and pressing for her to _just go along_ , but he’s also panicking because he doesn’t know how good her telepathy skills are. Somehow though, things seem to click for Marinette. Her expression clears into smooth glass, eyes shuddering shut with some emotion he can’t quite place, and she drops her croissant onto her desk and squares her shoulders to face Lila. 

“Yeah,” Marinette says lowly. “I’m dating Chat Noir.” 

The class erupts. Alya cusses. Lila gasps. Chloe flips through her magazine.

And Adrien?

_He’s fucking screwed_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Marinette,” he says, cringing internally because that is going to hurt for years to come. “I really didn’t mean to drag you into this.”
> 
> “I just want to know why.”
> 
> “Fine,” he relents, mind desperately trying to come up with a solution that doesn’t include "I’m Chat Noir", but his mouth’s going trigger-happy again, and he can only hope that whatever it comes up with this time that he’s at least invited to the wedding. “But only if you let me talk for like two minutes without interrupting me.”
> 
> Marinette dutifully takes a bite of her croissant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next installment, and it's clear this story is quickly becoming a monster and I don't know where it's going to take me but it's clear it's going to HURT. Feel free to hit me up @agrestenoir on tumblr to talk about this fic or anything in general: I love hearing from you.

“Did you know the human brain isn’t fully developed in teenagers?” Marinette’s voice sounds from the last row of desks in the back of the deserted classroom. She drums her fingers against the wooden surface in a systematic rhythm that sounds _alarmingly_ similar to a funeral march.

Adrien gulps.

The text comes before lunch: _Meet me in the 329._ That particular classroom is renowned throughout most of the school for a multitude of reasons, largely for the make-outs, but right now Adrien’s pretty sure it’s for his take-out.

For a moment, he pauses in the doorway, gaze skittering across Marinette’s form, lounging easily in the desk chair, and tries to see if there’s any knives or firepower hidden away. (The only guns he sees are the ones tucked into the sleeves of her knit sweater, and he wouldn’t put it past her ability to murder him bare-handed. 11 out of 10 people in the school would agree, as Nino’s survey showed last year.)

“That’s… an interesting fact,” he murmurs as he finally enters the room and softly closes the door behind him. It clicks into place, and his heart leaps into his throat, and if you don’t think he’s already mapped out three escape routes, then you’re _dead wrong_. 

“Fact?” Marinette cocks her head as if she can’t quite understand him. “No, that’s your excuse."

“Excuse?” From the way her eyes gleam, he suddenly regrets asking.

She presses her lips into a thin line and chuckles without a hint of mirth; it’s not an expression he likes on her. “Yeah, for being stupid.”

“I’m not stupid,” he retorts. He can’t help it—it’s instinct. “I got a 95 on the physics test today.”

“Oh yeah?” Marinette quirks a brow high. “What’d you get about the one with gravity and the guy who got thrown off the building?”

Adrien’s smile freezes. “Funny,” he says. “I don’t remember that one.”

“Hmmm.” She shrugs and locks her eyes with his, the icy blue sending shivering down his spine. “Guess I must’ve just looked ahead.”

…Do you ever wonder what it’s like to watch your life pass by, knowing that you’re about to die? You’d think that after a few years relentlessly battling Hawkmoth for the peace of Paris, dealing with death and chaos on a regular basis, that Adrien would be more inclined to figure out when he’s close to being murdered… But apparently, it hasn’t clicked yet.

Silence lingers between them as a tangible tension, like the ice that freezes over the Seine during early winter: so easy to break, fragile and dangerous in a way that only stupid idiots dared to try. Adrien _knows_ what Marinette’s getting at, but he’s of the opinion, like with most things in his life, that if you ignore it hard enough, then it’ll have a tendency to disappear. (Like his mother.)

Marinette has always been one to surprise him though, such as going along with his desperate lie to Lila in the first place.

“Adrien, we need to talk,” she says softly, and he’s taken back by how quiet she is. If there’s one thing about Marinette Dupain-Cheng that he _knows_ , it’s that she’s only quiet for two things in her life: fashion (that starstruck, breathless wonder) and Lila (that desperate, _thou-shalt-not-kill_ commandeering aura).

(Right now, he wonders where he falls, but the stupid part of him desperately tries not to: _maybe she just likes my new shoes_.)

“I know,” he finally relents and fiddles with the strap of his bag, refusing to meet her stern gaze. Wordlessly, he climbs the stairs to the last row, slinging himself into the seat beside her and drops his head in his hands. “I screwed up.”

“Screwed implies a mistake,” she comments. Her fingers drum against the desktop: _one, two, three_. “You fucked up.”

There’s no words needed. Adrien simply groans into the desk.

“One thing I don’t understand though,” Marinette starts, and that’s when Adrien’s heart speeds up a bit because there’s more to this than just his murder apparently. “Is why are you, Adrien, _lying_ to _Lila_?”

“Excuse me?” he asks because the words _lie_ and _Lila_ sound great in context but not when they involve second-person and _Adrien_. (Continuing off the idea that Adrien Agreste as never _purposefully_ done anything wrong in his entire life, secret identities and overbearing father’s aside).

Marinette is leaning back in her chair, eyes to the ceiling and lips pursed in a quizzical expression. Her mind is doing that thing that leaves him breathless, running a million miles a minute with no room for recovery. (It’s impressive and somewhat terrifying, especially during their video games marathons). It’s clear she’s trying to puzzle her way through whatever possible excuse he comes up with, probably disproving them before he’s even had a chance to think them into existence.

“Lila lies,” she tells him as if reciting one of the most natural facts of the world. “It’s just what she does, and I know that after dealing with it for two years.”

“Doesn’t stop you from getting involved,” Adrien quips in.

She narrows her eyes to glare at him, but there’s no heat behind it. “Mainly because I’m bored, and it’s fun to watch her flounder.”

“Since when have you believed in passive aggression?”

Adrien recalls many, _many_ times Marinette’s lost her temper: the many WWE matches she’s battled out with Chloe, the time she had every police officer in Paris gunning for her after the incident with the pigeons, the time she broke into Gabriel Agreste’s office full of state-of-the-art security to prove a point and get an internship. The point remains that Marinette Dupain-Cheng is deadly and aggressive, and she’s been known to lead with the knife even before she’s spotted the target.

“About the same time I started dating Chat Noir apparently.” She crosses her arms against her chest and spins around in the chair to face him head-on. “But you’ll have to remind me when that started because my memory’s been a little spotty the last couple days.”

 

 **TARGET ACQUIRED**.

 

This is the point Adrien should _really_ start running, but he’s always been attracted to danger and deadly women (read: Ladybug) and believes that sometimes death is worth.

…This probably isn’t one of those times, but hey, he’s come this far so he might as well see it to the end.

“Okay,” Adrien starts, shifting towards her. “Hear me out.”

“This should be good,” Marinette mumbles. She digs into her school bag and pulls out her lunch, and he sees the tea and strawberries and croissants, and—, ( _okay_ , hold on, because the croissants take Adrien by surprise because he’s pretty sure he saw her inhale two of those earlier when his life imploded).

“Do you stock-pile those?”

She takes a bite out of one in retaliation. “What’s it to you?”

“Not important.”

“Good answer.”

“So, Lila was saying—” Adrien tries to explain, but he must have been going too slow because Marinette interrupts with a shake of her head.

“I know what Lila said, and I don’t care.” Adrien watches as she turns quiet and inward, eyes shuttering close to prevent any emotions from leaking out. “I just want to know why you said what you did because that’s all that matters.” She turns her gaze on him again, imploring him to speak, and it’s all honest and soft that he’s almost afraid to talk. “You told the _whole class_ that I’m dating Chat Noir.”

“Yeah.” He was _there_ this morning, after all.

“It wasn’t just Lila, Adrien, I mean… you told _everyone_.”

“Yeah, Mari, I… I was _there_ , you know?” He's beginning to wonder if  _she_ was though.

“Then I just want to know what made you say that?” She throws her hands into the air with an exasperated moan before looking at the ceiling. Adrien lets his gaze wander up there too, but he doesn’t see anything of significant importance. “I’m _not_ dating him, Adrien. I think I’d know if I was dating a famous superhero.”

“I know you aren’t.” He can’t say much more than that, and he doesn’t know how to explain it in a way that won’t give away his secret identity. In the heat of the moment, Adrien saw stars and panicked, and unfortunately, he did what he usually does in times of crisis: turn to the nearest girl with black hair and bluebell eyes.

Marinette cocks her head in confusion, sipping at her tea. “Really? Because after earlier, I just wasn’t sure if you’d gotten that memo, so I thought I’d just, you know, check in about it.”

Adrien sulks in his seat, running a tired hand through his hair, tugging at the strands disheartened. “I really didn’t have a lot of options, and I just panicked, okay?” He’s honestly lucky he was able to make sense of his thoughts at the time (for the most part… before his mouth got trigger-happy).

“What’s there to panic about?” Here’s where Marinette shrugs like this whole thing is a normal occurrences. “It’s just Lila, and someone would’ve called her on it later anyway. Probably me during second period after listening to Madame Fischer drone on about the Copernicus.”

“Well I’m glad I saved you the trouble.” His words are bitter, tasting like ash when they fall from his tongue.

“You _‘saved’_ me the trouble?” Her brows fly sky high, and Adrien knows he’s said the wrong thing… (again). “I’m sorry, should I be on my knees thanking you?”

“That’s not what I me—”

“No, Adrien, you _caused_ me trouble,” she points out, and there’s a fire in her eyes that’s growing brighter into a raging inferno. “And that’s why we’re having this meeting instead of going to the café with Nino and Alya. I could’ve had my hazelnut latte, but you being a dumbass is making that a bit hard.”

“I hope Nino brings me back a coffee,” he grumbles in response. “I need some.”

“Trust me, I know the feeling.”

There’s silence between them, but this time it’s companionable and even a bit comfortable. Now that Adrien’s sure that Marinette’s not mad (read: won’t murder him in cold blood), things have settled to a point that he can make sense of the situation he’s found himself in, dealing with the fall-out of both his and Lila’s lies, sequestered off from the rest of the world by Marinette to plan on how to proceed with the consequences he’s set before them (…maybe he shouldn’t write off murder yet).

Marinette pops a strawberry in her mouth and chews it thoughtfully. “Look, the way I see it: there are three reasons why you could’ve lied and dragged me into this clusterfuck.” 

“Oh boy.” There she goes.

 

 **BULLSEYE**.

 

“One: you’re jealous of Lila and had to take the superhero out of the game, and since Nino’s already dating Alya and Chloe’s gay, I was your only option.”

Adrien squawks (read: full of masculinity) in protest. “That’s _not_ true. Lila’s not my type.”

“Okay, fine,” she concedes and counts out the second choice on her fingers. “ Then let’s discuss option two: it’s not Lila who’s the problem but _Chat Noir_.” _Oh shit_ , Adrien thinks to himself because he sees where this is going. “Maybe you’re the one dating him and couldn’t stand the idea of someone else dragging your boyfriend into the spotlight, even if it was for a harmless lie.”

“Wait, hang on, that’s not—” he tries to say, but Marinette holds her hand up as an interjection.

“Relax, I know Chloe would murder you if you were dating him and didn’t tell her.”

“Thank you—”

Suddenly, though, her eyes narrow into daggers, and she fixes him with a sharp smirk. “Then again, you do seem to like women who can kill you.” _Another bullseye._

“Excuse me?” His voice turns high, and this time he’s not exactly sure where she’s taking this—

“Kagami—”

 _Fuck_.

“—okay, let’s not talk about that—”

“—because we _all_ remember what happened last year in the supply closet with you two and the fencing swords.”

“Mari, _please_ ,” he begs because he doesn’t know why this is happening to him. He doesn’t know why he deserves this bad luck, and it can’t be just because he’s Chat Noir or because Plagg’s a bad influence.

She rolls her eyes, huffing out a soft laugh. “Then that just leaves option three.”

“Which is?”

“Not sure yet.” She presses her lips into a resolute expression. “I was hoping you could fill in the rest.”

“There’s _really_ not a lot to say.”

“I just don’t get why you lied, or why you brought me into this.” Marinette picks at her croissant, drawing pictures in the crumbs that dust the desk underneath it. “You could’ve just told the truth.”

“The truth?” His heart lurches into a helicopter’s beat: _shitshitshitshit, secRET IDENTITY, does she KNOW?!_

“Yeah.” She shrugs helplessly with a soft smile. “I know you were with Chloe when you guys caught Lila going into the diplomat’s hotel room. No one would fault you for spying. It makes sense.”

 _Yes, Adrien_ , he thinks to himself. _What a perfectly logical and sensible explanation for the situation at hand that completely combats Lila’s lie and further adds proof to Chloe’s claim. What a smart cookie you are for thinking of such a beautiful rebuttal._

“Marinette,” he says, cringing internally because _that_ is going to hurt for years to come. “I really didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

“I just want to know why.”

“Fine,” he relents, mind desperately trying to come up with a solution that doesn’t include _I’m Chat Noir_ , but his mouth’s going trigger-happy again, and he can only hope that whatever it comes up with _this_ time that he’s at least invited to the wedding. “But only if you let me talk for like _two minutes_ without interrupting me.”

Marinette dutifully takes a bite of her croissant.

“Listen, I _know_ Chat Noir.” Beside him, Marinette scoffs, and a warm blush dusts the tips of his ears as he nudges her side with his elbow. “I know that sounds like a stupid joke, but it’s true and I just… can’t stand the thought of someone dragging his name around when he can’t do anything about it.”

“It’s not the first time people have talked about him, you know.”

Inside, Adrien’s stomach squirms in protest because he _does_ know that. It’s not the first time that he replays the scene from earlier this morning, trying to pinpoint _explicitly_ what made him jump down Lila’s throat and call her on her lies. Perhaps it was _because_ everyone’s been against Ladybug and him for the last couple months, and he didn’t want to handle even more gossip about responsibility and reliability. However, with a barely restrained sigh, Adrien has to admit that there’s more to it.

He thinks of Ladybug, wondering what _she’d_ think of him if she heard the rumor of him dating a civilian, especially someone like Lila Rossi, who’s caused more trouble for them in the past than either can bear to admit. Even if she hears about Chat Noir traipsing around with Marinette, even with the later giving fuel to the fire, at least Ladybug _trusts_ this particular civilian and knows that the seventeen-year-old can take care of herself. Adrien can recall numerous times that Ladybug herself has mentioned utilizing Marinette, whether it’s just to talk out some problems or involving her in strategies against rampaging akumas.

Chat Noir isn’t alone in trusting Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Ladybug has in the past, and there’s no reason why Adrien Agreste shouldn’t be to as well.

“You know how much shit Ladybug and Chat Noir have to deal with right now—with the media, the mayor, and everyone else in Paris riding their asses.” Adrien shakes his head, trying to shake the latest headlines of incompetence from the forefront of his mind; he doesn’t have the time to get lost in that right now. “I know it’s been two years and Hawkmoth is still causing trouble, but they’re trying their best and dealing with some stupid rumors isn’t going to help anything.”

Marinette’s expression seems to soften, so he urges himself on. “Plus: what if Hawkmoth hears about Lila’s lies? She could be a target, and even though she started it, that’s still on Chat Noir.” He clasps his hands into white-knuckled fists. “I’m not going to make their lives more difficult—his or Ladybug’s—so if I can jump in and try to stop that spark before everything else catches fire, then I’ll do it.”

There’s a soft pause, the space of a single heartbeat, and then Marinette asks, “But why me?”

“Huh?”

“You specifically said that _I_ was dating Chat Noir.” Brows furrowed in confusion, she approaches the situation like it’s a particularly difficult math question. “It’s could’ve anyone else: Ladybug, yourself—”

Adrien pokes her with his index finger. “Listen, Hawkmoth might be bad, but it’s Chloe I’m scared shitless about. I won’t put myself through that.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Adrien.” She smacks his hands away with a small laugh.

“Because…” _Danger, danger! High levels of fuckery detected._ He struggles to come up with something because he seriously doesn’t know what made him turn to Marinette and go all Pokémon on her (read: _Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I choose you!!)_

She’s quiet, still waiting for an answer.

“Because you know him too,” Adrien says, and it all comes out in a breathless rush. “You’ve mentioned meeting him before. You guys actually talk and have conversations sometimes. It’s almost like your friends.”

(For god’s sakes, they shared a plate of spaghetti last time he visited in the faux-leather. If marinara and noodles aren’t a way to friendship, then Adrien needs to go back and rewatch his entire anime collection.)

“Yeah…” Marinette’s eyes turn distant and wistful. “We’re something.”

“You’re important to him,” he goes on and hopes he’s not overstepping. The masks hides his identity, but it also hides others. He can’t be sure what goes on outside of it. “So I figured… if anyone else was going to play along, it’s you.”

“Well, you’re lucky I am.” She takes a sip of tea, and he nearly chokes on his own spit because he _knew he forgot something_.

“Which brings up another point: _why did you agree_?” he presses.

“Huh?” Marinette has the indecency to look shocked, as if she isn’t currently aiding in tearing his life apart.

“You could’ve backed out and saved yourself a whole lot of trouble, but you didn’t. You agreed and jumped into this hellhole with me.” He makes sure to keep his voice level so not to scare (read: anger further) her; his mama didn’t raise no hooligan after all. Manners are a man’s best friend.

“Because…” She flounders for the right words. “I care about him.”

“…That’s it?”

That’s definitely the _wrong_ thing to say. (And god, is he on a roll today.)

“Listen, I will put up with a _lot_ of shit from Lila.” She crowds into his personal space, blue eyes burning and expression stony as if carved from marble. “It’s fine if she lies about me, or Jagged Stone, or Ladybug: _I don’t care_. But when it comes to Chat Noir, that’s the _one_ person I won’t let her touch.” Her voice grows louder as she goes on. “So yes, Adrien, I do care about him, and we are friends, and I won’t let her drag his name through the mud.”

Adrien’s stunned beyond words. “Wow,” is the only thing he can get out, you know, like a smart person.

“You’re right.” She huffs and falls back in her seat, fingers toying with the stray hem on her sweater sleeve. “He does have to deal with a lot of shit right now, and if I can do something to help with that, just like you, I will.”

“Really?” Adrien can’t remember the last time a friend or classmate was as passionate about Chat Noir as he was (which is saying something, considering he is Chat Noir, in case anyone doesn’t know).

Marinette stares at him for a long while. “I look out for my friends, Adrien.”

 _As if the last two years haven’t proved that_ , Adrien reminds himself. Plastering a soft smile across his face, he turns on his charm and says, “I’m glad. The world needs more people like you, Mari.”

“Please.” She avoids his gaze.

(Sometimes he forgets just _why_ she’s one of his best friends, and then she opens her mouth and does this, and he hates himself for forgetting in the first place.) 

“Really,” he presses. 

“Shut up.” With a barely concealed cough, cheeks blossoming with a warm rosy hue, she turns back to her lunch and moves on. “Anyway, I’m not sure how you plan to keep this lie going, because unless you actually bring Chat Noir in, we’re pretty much at a dead end now.” 

“…I could probably do that.” He’s pretty sure he can swing that. 

“What?” 

“Seriously,” he urges her. “Let me talk to him. Maybe he can help.” 

Marinette mumbles around the last bit of her croissant, spewing crumbs as she speaks, “Oh, this I’d _love_ to see.” 

A flash of annoyance shoots through him, but it’s not from any lingering hostility towards his friend but because she just declared a challenge, and if there’s one thing about Adrien Agreste that no one knows, it’s that he’s stubborn as fuck and doesn’t like to lose. “Fine, I’ll talk to him tonight.”

“Fine. Sounds like a plan then.” Marinette’s quick to agree, but he can tell from the way her eyes linger that she doesn’t believe him. 

They fall into a comfortable silence once more, deciding to concentrate on food for the first time since the entire disaster started, and Adrien can’t believe that things are actually working out for him. He isn’t Ladybug: good luck doesn’t just _happen_ to him. Despite the wonder he’s done and miracles he’s made, bad luck still haunts him like a reaper, a shadow that refuses to move. 

Things like this are reserved for people like Marinette and Ladybug.

The thought gives him pause as he turns back to his friend. “Oh, by the way, Mari…” 

“Hm…?” She quirks her eyebrow high, mouth falling open around a strawberry 

“About what you said about Lila lying about everyone…” He fidgets in his seat. “You’d totally stand up for Ladybug too right? Not just Chat Noir?” 

“Nah.” Her answer is quick and overpowering, like a gunshot. 

Adrien’s eyes widen in surprise. “But she’s—” 

“—not as important,” Marinette finishes and swallows her strawberry, wiping her fingers on a nearby paper towel. 

“Excuse me?” _The sheer nerves of this woman_ , he thinks, _how dare such blasphemy fall from her lips._  

Marinette simply shrugs. “What? I’m just being honest.”

 “You like Chat Noir best?”

“Yeah, he’s my favorite.” The bubble of joy that swells in his chest shouldn’t be so big, but It grows and grows and settle warm and content inside. 

It still doesn’t take the focus off the growing problem at hand though. “I can’t believe you have the audacity—” And that’s when Marinette pushes her lunch away and gets ready to fight. 

The argument continues well-past lunch, simmering into angry texts that buzz into their inboxes for the rest of the day.

 

It’s going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, readers!
> 
> Please enjoy nearly 4000 words of Adrien panicking. Also pay no attention to the chapter count as a lot of it is up in the air right now as we get the filler chapters out of the way and get into the real meat of the story on the next one. Hope you like, and as always, feel free to drop me a line at @agrestenoir on tumblr to talk about this story, my writing, this show, or anything else in general. I love hearing from you all!
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy the chapter!

There’s a certain type of wonder that comes with being Chat Noir.

While ancient gods, magic, and enhanced physical abilities (read: super strength, _yay!!_ ) are a perk of being one half of the famed superhero duo that protects Paris, it’s an entirely different story when he’s skipping across rooftops and flying through the crisp evening air during twilight. There’s a freedom that sings in his bones and dances through his blood—something that lets his laughter disappear on the breeze and eyes glitter as bright as the stars. 

Adrien _loves_ being Chat Noir, which is exactly why he absolutely _cannot_ fuck this up. 

Since he took the hero mantle, there’s been an unspoken rule for him and Ladybug: if your secret identity is revealed, then everything is over. It’s why they’ve kept the masks and secrets and mysteries, why real names and personal lives are forbidden, why the weight they carry on their shoulders is always ten times heavier than anyone their age should bear. 

He’s played this game for two years—played it _well_ —up until now. Now, he’s stuck himself between a girl and a mask, and he’s going to face horrible, awful consequences if this stupid scheme of his doesn’t pan out right. 

“Everything is going to be fine,” Adrien says, more to himself than anyone else, because he is an extremely capable person, no matter what Marinette or _Plagg_ thinks.

“You’re going to die,” Plagg retorts around a bite of Camembert cheese. 

There’s a short pause as Adrien pouts from his spot on the couch, lips twisted angrily and arms crossed against his chest and eyes downcast. He’s coiled up tight, no give in his posture and no give on his stance. It’s evident he’s going to see this disaster all the way through, and that just makes his kwami guffaw even harder. 

Adrien rolls his eyes. “You can stop laughing now.”

“I’m going to be laughing about this for centuries, kid.” Plagg floats over, unable to contain his amusement. “This is going down as one of the greatest catastrophes in all of human history. Even the dinosaur extinction pales in comparison.” 

“I thought you were supposed to be supportive of me.” Adrien can’t stop sulking because he thought _at least_ Plagg would be in his corner, but he’s just as bad as Marinette. It’s becoming quite apparent that he has absolutely _no one_. 

(How bad is it that even _Adrien_ isn’t in Adrien’s corner?!) 

“I still don’t know why you wanna fake date Marinette. You’re in love with her, right? Because I can’t figure out _why_.” Plagg spins in a circle, eyes glittering with glee. “I told you that you had a crush on her.” 

“I do not.” 

“You wanna date her.” 

“I do not.” 

“You think she’s pretty.” 

“I do, but I—” 

“You’re _in love_ —” 

Pushing himself up from the couch, he grabs at Plagg in effort to get the kwami to shut up, but it’s no use as the ancient god (read: fucking cat) floats just out of reach. Looking back, Adrien isn’t exactly sure what he expected from Plagg when they got home from school and could talk freely regarding the situation. Some support would be nice, yes. A warning to take care and proceed with caution, perhaps.

Unnecessary taunting and teasing—that’s _exactly_ what he should expect from Plagg. 

Adrien presses his lips into a thin line and looks up at the kwami with a resolute expression. “Look, are you gonna help me or not?” 

“How much Camembert is my help worth to you?” 

Adrien throws his hands up in the air with exasperation, clenching his eyes closed tightly “Are you _really_ doing this right now? Really, Plagg?” 

“Two wheels and the gourmet stuff your cook keeps in the corner of the kitchen.” 

“ _Plagg_!” 

“Three wheels. Final offer.” 

Adrien doesn’t know how this happened: getting in a bidding war he doesn’t even _need to win_ with a tiny god, and he’s _losing_. He takes a deep breath, slow enough to gather his thoughts, before nodding without being sure _exactly_ what he’s agreeing to in the first place.

“Fine, fine, you win.” He taps Plagg’s outstretched paw, flicking another piece of cheese at him from the table as he moves around. “Okay, now help me figure out what to say to Marinette, and what I’m supposed to do as Chat Noir.” 

“I thought you knew what you were doing,” Plagg says around the Camembert. “That this was your plan all along.”

“Well maybe I don’t actually know what I’m doing,” Adrien snaps, too overwhelmed to care about the volume of his voice or what exactly he’s saying. “To be honest, I haven’t known what I’m doing since I _became_ Chat Noir two years ago!”

Plagg simply laughs at him. “You’re doing fine, kid.” 

“Plagg.” Here, Adrien levels the kwami with a frantic, burning gaze, hands clenched into tight fists in front of him. “Believe me when I say that I don’t know what I’m doing—I never have, and I probably never will—because that is what happens when you give one of the most powerful weapons in the world to a _fourteen-year-old boy_! I’ve barely got common sense, and everything else gets thrown out the window!” 

“Common sense? With you?” Plagg shrugs. “Never heard of it. Is it a new type of cheese?” 

With a quiet huff, Adrien collapses back on the sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. There’s only so much he can discuss with Plagg before the two find themselves arguing in a circle (and it _truly_ is a circle—infinite with no significant start or end point). Now, more than ever, he doesn’t know where he stands or where he’s supposed to go, lost in a maze of _fuck, oh shit, what the hell did I do?_ as he rewinds through the day’s events: Lila lying, Adrien lying, Marinette lying. Nothing— _absolutely nothing_ —about this whole situation makes any sense. 

Where’s the error message? How does he refresh this web page? _Google, please save me_. 

“Plagg, I… I panicked,” he says, mildly. As an after-thought, adding, “Panicking is bad.” 

(Panic makes Adrien Agreste do bad things—like _lie_ —and Adrien Agreste is no liar.) 

There’s silence as Adrien tries to drown himself on dry land in his own misery and Plagg finishes off the rest of his cheese. The morning’s episode and concurrent fuck-ups as well as the daunting horror of _it’s-not-over-yet_ battle for dominance about which to cry about first, and though he tries to find a bright side for this escapade, Adrien really can’t find anything. Plagg certainly isn’t helping. 

But then that stupid kwami opens his mouth and _is actually helpful_ when he says, “You gotta act like an innocent third party in this.” 

Adrien’s head snaps to attention. “I am?” 

Plagg snorts. “You? No way. Chat Noir? Yes.”

“I’m…. I’m not following,” Adrien says, not following. 

Plagg floats down to rest on his shoulder. “Look, kid, you lied and came up with this stupid plan. Marinette lied and agreed to this stupid plan. Chat Noir, though… He’s got _no say_ in this. As long as Marinette knows, _Adrien_ is asking _Chat Noir_ for a huge favor.” 

“She doesn’t actually believe I can do it,” Adrien tells him with a wry smile, thinking back to Marinette, all fire and wit, in that deserted classroom. Certainly a sight to behold, alright. 

Plagg nods. “There? See, all you gotta do is act innocent as Chat Noir, and then let her come up with something because she’s smarter than you.” 

“She is not!” 

“Don’t argue with me.” The kwami swells with pride, as if he’s the higher being in this situation, like he would’ve told Adrien to shut up and stop talking if he had been given the chance (and he _could’ve_ , at any time, so that’s guilt by association in Adrien’s book). “You told the whole class your secret identity was dating a civilian. That was dumb. You’re dumb. Then again, she's dumb for agreeing with you.” 

Adrien stares at Plagg with a dumbstruck expression, unsure how exactly to respond.   

Plagg seems to take it as a win. “Glad we agreed on that. So after you do that—” 

“I’m not listening to this anymore,” Adrien says, pushing himself to his feet. 

“I’m not done—” Plagg tries to say, but Adrien interjects with a hand in front of him. 

“ _Plagg, claws out!”_  

As the Miraculous magic surrounds him, the familiar warmth settling in the pit of his stomach, heart pumping loud and fast, Adrien can’t help but think of one more thing that being Chat Noir gives him. 

 _An escape_.

  

*

  

The way to Marinette’s is different when he travels as Chat Noir instead of Adrien Agreste, but it’s definitely familiar. (He swears he’s not a stalker.)

Things just tend to look different from above as he flies through the sky, skipping over rooftops and swinging from balconies and diving off chimneys—a much more scenic route than a simple car and street can offer. It gives him time to process the situation though, to lose himself in his pounding heart and pulsing thoughts, both competing for attention as he prepares himself for the conversation with Marinette. 

It’s how he solves most of his problems now a days: a quick jaunt around the city to help him think. 

But the problem today is that he’s been thinking _too much._

So much, in fact, that he completely underestimates the distance between buildings, clipping his foot on the wrought-iron railing of Marinette’s balcony, sending him tumbling head-over-heels into the brick work of the Dupain-Cheng’s bakery’s rooftop. When he finally comes to a stop, face throbbing with evident skid marks, all he can think (and pray, _oh god_ , please!): _at least no one saw me_. 

The barking laughter coming from the other side of the balcony proves him wrong. It’s the soprano jingle that echoes through the air like his favorite song, one he’s become intimately familiar with over the last few years, a special one belonging to a certain Marinette Dupain-Cheng. 

“You sure know how to make an entrance, don’t you, kitty?” Marinette sits in the pink lounge chair, a sketchpad open in her lap and a pencil tucked behind her ear. “I thought cats were always supposed to land on their feet.”

“What can I say?” he says, pushing himself onto his hands and knees, cheeks burning a bright pink. “I wanted to get the show rolling.” He wonders if he stays still, if he can just sink through the floor and disappear forever. 

“You certainly did that.” She’s still laughing as she gets up, offering the hero a hand to help. 

He’s brushing off nonexistent dirt when he gets up, trying to center his thoughts around anything other than the girl in front of him. It’s funny, he thinks, because he can’t remember the last time a girl that _wasn’t_ Ladybug or Kagami made him so incredibly nervous. Still, Marinette has a certain effect on people, and it’s different for everyone she meets—whether he’s Adrien or Chat Noir. 

Adrien Agreste is her friend from school, her video game partner on the weekends, the one who ends up reimbursing the Dupain-Cheng’s monthly flour budget after his _many, many_ failed attempts at baking each time he comes over. They share similar interests, similar experiences, similar experiences, similar… _everything_. (Adrien likes to call her one of his closest friends, and he wonders if she would award him the same standing). 

Chat Noir, on the other end, is something else entirely. He’s someone who meets her during nightly patrols, who sits down and shares spaghetti dinners for long talks about their mutual failed dating lives ( _hey, heart-felt conversations change people!_ ), who has probably logged twenty marathons at this point carrying her bridal-style across the city whenever an akuma comes because Marinette has a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There’s a sort of mutual respect and understanding between them at this point—one that this whole situation could break.

At the end of the day, Adrien’s sure of one thing: he doesn’t want to lose her, as Chat Noir or Adrien Agreste. 

“So,” Marinette begins as she invites him to sit in the green longue chair next to her. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?” 

Adrien musters up a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck to channel his anxiety. “A little bird told me you were waiting up to see me. Not that Adrien has a bird miraculous or anything, I mean…” (Adrien Agreste: 0. Anxiety and stress and other cardiac arrest-related symptoms: 1). “He said that you and I needed to talk.”

(Please, god help his cortisol levels right now.)

“Adrien…” Shoulders shaking, Marinette can’t restrain her own laughter. “That sly motherfucker.” 

“In case he asks, hero-civilian confidentiality agreement states that I am unable to say—” 

“You silly cat.” Reaching across the divide between them, she pokes his arm with a bright smile. “This isn’t HIPAA, Adrien’s a little shit, and I hate being wrong.” 

There’s a certain ease being around Marinette brings, one that Adrien takes full joy in relinquishing to as he settles back in the chair. “Now there’s the Dupain-Cheng charm I know and love.”

Marinette smiles, all teeth and grit. “Please, I’m always charming.” 

“Yes, you are.” Adrien rolls his eyes, and even though his words are teasing, the truth sings out loud and proud. “Of course, your Majesty. Yes, your Highness. Whatever you say, my Queen.” 

“At least it’s a step up from Princess. You were stuck on that one for a few months.” She picks a piece off of the half-eaten croissant sitting on top of the page in her notebook that she’s been sketching on. (Adrien is beginning to wonder if she has a problem.) 

“I could call you a _lot_ of other things.” Plastering on that Cheshire grin he’s famous, he leans forward, eyes twinkling with amusement. “You forget just how much time we’ve spent together and underestimate just how many stories Adrien’s told me.” 

“Speaking of tall, blonde, and stupid…” Adrien’s heart stumbles to a stuttering stop as Marinette’s words hit him like a bullet train, scattering his thoughts into a frenzy once more. ( _Oh god, he’s not ready._ ) “Why didn’t you ever tell me you and Adrien were close? You know we’re pretty good friends.” 

Adrien, like the idiot he is, can only shrug half-heartedly. “I guess it just never came up.” 

There’s a short pause, long enough for him to try to get his bearings, until she continues with, “We should invite him over for the next spaghetti dinner then.” 

( _We absolutely should not_.) 

He freezes, but it still slips out as, “I would love that.” 

( _No, you would not_.) 

Inside, he can picture Plagg in absolute hysterics and knows he’s subjected himself to a night full of taunts: _I can’t wait to see how this pans out, kid._ At this point, Adrien prays that someone would stop him from speaking because he’s continually making this worse. (…Someone should’ve fucking stopped him this morning. Then he wouldn’t even be in this mess.) 

Eager to change the subject, he presses on. “Speaking of dinners this time, Adrien mentioned a certain thing going on with you, him, Lila Rossi, and apparently me.” 

“Oh that!” This time, it’s Marinette’s turn to burn red, cheeks and ears flushing at his question. Adrien finds great glee in being on the serving side of this for once. “You know, just forget—”

“I’m in.” _Fuck_. 

“Ex-Excuse me?” Even she’s taken back, and meanwhile, Adrien’s wondering just where the fuck that sudden gunshot agreement came from. Weren’t they supposed to discuss it a little more?! Apparently his mouth is a little bit more disconnected from his brain than he originally thought, and a part of him wonders where he can find a technician to fix that at this time of day.

 “I’m game for it.” _Stop speaking, Adrien. Stop s-p-e-a-k-i-n-g._ “Sounds fun. Heroes are always willing to help, right? Besides, I owe Adrien a favor, so this is really just me cashing it in for him.” 

(Read: _This is me digging myself into a hole I don’t know how to climb out of_.) 

“Dating me is only for a favor?” Marinette quirks a brow high, leveling him with a quizzical expression. “That’s all I’m worth to you?” 

“W-What? No, no, absolutely…” He stares at her for a second, and she simply blinks back up at him, all wide-eyed and innocent. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?” 

“Not the first time someone’s told me that.” 

Adrien shakes his head. “Marinette, I swear…”

“Oh come on.” She nudges him good naturedly, smile stretched wide across his face. “You know you love me.” The ease that comes with being around her floods back to him in waves, cooling his frayed, frantic nerves. 

Adrien wonders just what it is about Marinette that makes him act this way: to lose all sort of sense, and then to gain it back tenfold when needed. Whatever it is, he knows it’s something substantial and meaningful. It’s what pushed him to choose her when caught in the confrontation with Lila, what made him sit down and actually commit to this stupid plan in the first place, what makes him lose any filter and keep going because somehow… she makes it possible. 

“Yeah, I do.” He folds his arms behind his head, relaxing into the chair. “I do.” 

“Look, that’s why I’m going to be completely honest with you right now: I don’t want to trap you into this little thing.” With a sigh, Marinette grabs his hand with a tight hold, making sure that he _understands_. “This thing? It’s just a product of me and Adrien being stupid because Lila’s stupid. I don’t want to get you into any trouble, especially with Ladybug or anyone else, and with Hawkmoth still active…” 

“You’re not causing any trouble for me. Don’t worry.” He ducks his gaze, still trying to gauge Marinette’s reaction. “Unless… you’re worried for your safety?” 

She shakes her head. “It’s not that.” 

“Well _if it is_ , and you don’t want to tell me, then we _don’t_ have to do this and be stupid together.” Leveling her with steely eyes, he places both hands on her shoulders and grips them hard, claws digging into the fabric of her shirt. He wants to make sure he gets this point across—that it’s not lost in the unfathomable void of an enigma that _is_ Marinette Dupain-Cheng. “I already told Adrien this, and I’m going to tell you the same thing: I won’t risk you just for some silly prank. You’re too important, and everything else doesn’t matter.” 

“I’m not worried about that,” Marinette reassures him with the same fervor. 

 _I care about my friends_ , she’d told him earlier. 

“So you’re _sure_ you want to do this then?” he asks because he’s tired of dragging out the _what-ifs_ and _will-we_ and just wants to stop hitting that panic button. Adrien just wants to be back on solid ground instead of floundering at sea much to Plagg’s delight. 

“If by ‘this’ you mean platonically fake-date you, then _yes_.” Marinette turns in her seat to face him head-on, muscle shifting under his hands, tensing as if she’s preparing for battle. “I want to fake-date you, Chat Noir.”

The blunt admission makes his cheeks heat up, much to _Marinette’s_ delight. 

“You’re blushing,” Marinette observes, smirking. 

“I am not.” ( _Fuck_.) 

She cocks her head to the side, watching for a short moment. “Do you have a crush on me, Chat Noir?” 

“No!” 

“Do you wanna date me?” 

“I-I mean—” 

“Do you think I’m pretty?” 

“Yes, n-no, I mean, Mar—” 

“Are you _in love_ —” Her words get smothered by his hand as he darts forward and clasps them across her face. 

“Shut up,” he snaps, body trembling from rapid fire attack. _This woman…_ he thinks. She scares him, whole heat and soul straight to the bone downright terrifies him. 

(It really _does_ scare him because he hasn’t felt this way in a long time—not since Ladybug.)

Marinette pulls away, settling back in her lounge chair and pops a piece of croissant into her mouth. “Okay, whatever. You’re not in love with me. So where do we go from here?” She brushes the crumbs from her lips, staring at him like he has all the answers. 

 _This_ …. Adrien was not prepared for this. _Plagg_ was not prepared for this. 

“I thought you might be able to tell me.” His voice trails off, unsure. 

From the look of surprise that crosses Marinette’s face, he has a feeling that she’s going to kill him—not Chat Noir him (because he’s supposedly an innocent third party), but rather _Adrien_ him (the one who’s blood bleeds black with guilt). After all, Adrien’s the one who got them all into this mess, and he’s pretty sure everyone’s expecting him to figure out how to handle this (…him included). 

There’s silence as Marinette shoves the rest of her croissant in her mouth (Adrien is _definitely_ sure she has a problem). “I guess, if you’re fake dating me, you have to be public about it.” 

He mulls over her suggestion. “Like… bring you flowers? Take you on dates?” 

“Give me gifts. Walk me to school,” she continues.

“Hold your hand,” he says. 

“Kiss me,” she mutters. 

Adrien squawks in reply, nearly falling out of his seat as he flails about. “What?” 

Blue eyes glinting under the setting sunlight, she fixes him with a hard glare. “If you want to be convincing, you’re going to have to kiss me, Chat Noir.” 

“I didn’t know that was a option!” 

“Option? It’s a fucking _requirement_.” Adrien thinks he’s hit her endpoint as he stares at her, slightly worried from the way her voice raises a few octaves, and he expects that’ll soon evolve to some siren song. “No one’s going to believe we’re in a serious relationship if you don’t kiss me!” 

“I’m just not ready,” he says in a breathless rush. “We’ve only been together for five minutes. This is moving too fast for me. I’m afraid of commitment, and I—”

Apparently that’s the straw to break the camel’s back, because Marinette erupts into body shaking, shoulder trembling, voice cracking, head-over-heels laughter. She can barely take in air, wheezing in shrill whistles, and the sight is enough to set him off as well. 

This? _This_ is exactly why he chose Marinette when everything else was going haywire. 

She always finds a way to ground him—to be his anchor. 

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he finally admits, shaking his head as he turns his gaze to the sky. 

There’s silence before Marinette responds, still breathless. “We’re gonna screw this.” 

“Oh yeah,” he agrees. “There’s no argument there.” 

 _We’re fucking screwed_. 

But—with Marinette at his side —he thinks they have a slight chance. 

 _…Maybe_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all good things, come talk to me on tumblr @agrestenoir or on twitter @thirdstrikes. 
> 
> Here's the newest chapter. Setting up a bunch of plot-driven stuff so it's a bit of a filler, but next chapter the fun shenanigans start now that we got all the angst and set-up shit covered.
> 
> Thank you all for reading. I'm trying to keep up with comment responses but I'm so busy this time of year with my professional program starting and working a job. 
> 
> <3 I'll do my best though.

It never bothers Adrien that he spends most of his time alone. His life is by no means _simple_ —he can barely keep up with it, and he’s the one forced to live through the fucking thing. There’s always photoshoots for his father’s fashion line, too many extracurriculars to count, and long nights in an empty house when business outweighs family. In a way, loneliness is his saving grace. Even though he has his father, friends, and Plagg, the less people involved means his secret identity and all the shenanigans that come with it become less complicated. 

It’s odd, he supposes. Some people choose the path of least resistance, and he chooses the path of most loneliness. It makes his life easier, he figures, so why not? (read: Adrien Agreste is a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need no man.) 

Which is why, when he finally popped his loneliness cherry and started getting involved in things like… _friends, partners, and girlfriends_ … he’s drowning on dry land. 

Suddenly, Adrien is forced to play two sides of a game where each has no guarantee of winning. Scratch that: this isn’t a game anymore—it’s a _war_ —a full on bloody field day (read: for journalists, paparazzi, and warriors like himself). The fact of the matter is that Adrien is fighting so hard a victorious end for all involved, to a point where the sides are mixing together in a kind of chemical reaction he can’t undo. The matter involved is not the same as it started—it’s irreversible, so it’s going to show characteristics of both sides. 

(Basically, it goes like this: his secret identity was probably screwed from the moment he lied, but he doesn’t know that yet.) 

“Howdy, Mari,” he says the moment he spots her before morning classes, the sight of her instantly brightening his day.

“Hi, Adrien,” Marinette says as she digs through her locker. It’s still early, and one of the rare moments he’d managed to catch her beforehand. "We still on for  _Galaxy Seven_  tonight?"

"At five?" he asks, quickly going over his mental planner (read: channel his inner Nathalie). "Nino's coming over with his new demo too, right?"

"Yep," she says. "Alya'll probably join once because she hasn't stopped calling me since yesterday and wants to talk about... things."

(By the way she says  _things_ , Adrien has an idea of what exactly  _things_ are.)

“How’d last night go anyway?” 

Marinette freezes, dropping her gaze to the floor.

Chat Noir-esque smile plastered across his face, Adrien stares at Marinette like the cat that ate the canary (read: Adrien likes that simile because Plagg takes offense to it). He’s leaning against her locker with an eyebrow quirked high and eyes wide like he’s innocent ( _he’s not_ ) while his friend ignores him and tries to pretend like he doesn’t exist.

“A little bird told me you had a successful talk last night,” he says, picking at his nails as the ever picture-perfect image of nonchalance. 

Marinette hums in confusion, content to keep slipping books into her bag. “And which little bird told you that?” she asks without looking in his direction. “Only animal I saw last night was a cat who’s way too curious for his own good.” 

With a sigh, Adrien falls back with a loud _thud!_ against the metal lockers. “Marinette, come on. You’ve gotta give me _something_.” 

“You know that saying: _give an inch, take a mile_?” She closes her locker door swiftly and, still not looking at him as she snaps her bag shut. “I tell you what happened, and then you ask for more details. And soon you’ll be much more involved than you should be, and frankly, I don’t think any of us needs that.” 

Class starts in a few minutes, but they’ve got plenty of time before they have to worry about the tardies they’re both _extremely talented_ in receiving. (Part of Adrien wonders if it’s a game to her, and he bristles when he realizes she’s winning 12-8.) So Adrien has _no trouble_ pulling her aside to get more information (that he’s entitled to, no matter what she says, because she’s his GIRLFRIEND now and apparently he’s this wonderful girl’s BOYFRIEND, who’d of thought?!) 

“I just want to know what you settled on,” he says fervently and quickly grasps her elbow before she can turn away to tug her close. “He told me he agreed to your plan, but I want to know all the details. I’m in this thing with you guys _both_.” 

 _In more ways than you know_ , Adrien reminds himself but doesn’t say. That’d be a sure-fire way to reveal his secret identity.

Marinette’s voice is soft, almost breathless when she answers. “It’s not much. We agreed to try it.” 

“And…?” He kicks her shin lightly with the tip of his foot, egging her to continue. 

Her smile is scarce but _there_. “He walked me to school today.”

“Yeah?” 

“It was nice.” Her cheeks are turning a bright red as she pulls out a white paper bag that contains her breakfast (it’s a croissant, of course), and he shivers with pure, undulated happiness. 

( _YAY!_ That means he hasn’t ruined this scheme before it’s even began!) 

The idea had been a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing where he woke up and decided that if he’s going to date Marinette Dupain-Cheng, then he’s going to _date the fuck out_ of Marinette Dupain-Cheng. He stashed his bag on the roof of school before he took off towards her parents’ bakery, bowing low on her balcony in greeting, and then whisked her away down the scenic streets of Paris for all passerbys to see. 

It wouldn’t be long for social media and news stations to start circulating photos, which is what they wanted in the first place (but there’s also the short few moments he held Marinette in his arms, felt her warm breath puffing against his wind-stained cheeks, and he thought: _I could get used to this_ ).   

Adrien can’t stop the smile from stretching across his face. “I’m so glad it’s going well.” 

Something in his voice must intrigue Marinette because she raises her head and levels him with a quizzical stare, a spark in her eyes igniting at the very image of him. “Don’t smile like that,” she snaps suddenly, and if possible, her cheeks burn a deeper red. “You look just like him. It’s creepy.” 

It wipes the smile away immediately. ( _Fuck_.) 

“Sorry,” Adrien says quickly. “Force of habit.” 

“From what?” Marinette cocks her head to the side, studying him. 

“Chat Noir cosplay.” ( _Double fuck_.) 

 _Why?_ he thinks to himself. _Why le fuck was THAT your first go-to answer?!_  

Instead of responding, Marinette’s eyes shutter close, but it’s like she’s trying to peer through windows she’s boarded up—too sharp to focus. There’s barely a moment of hesitation before she’s gripping his wrist, nails digging into skin, and hissing into his ear, “You wanna be involved? Here’s your time to shine.” 

She pushes him forward. He stumbles a few steps: _one, two, thr—Lila._

> **ALERT!** You’ve encountered a new enemy. Would you like to battle?  
>    
>  >Yes  
>  **> No, but we’re gonna make you do it anyway. **

 

“Agreste,” Lila Rossi says politely, in the tone that implies that a middle finger is being held up somewhere. 

(Adrien has an uncanny ability to know when someone is holding up their middle finger, even if he can’t see it or they aren’t doing it. Perhaps it’s the mental middle finger. Nino likes to say that the sound of Adrien’s voice brings out that ability in _everyone_. Adrien just wonders if he has a phobia similar to anatidaephobia, the fear that somehow and somewhere a duck (read: middle finger) is watching you.) 

“Rossi,” Adrien acknowledges and sticks out his hand in her direction for her to shake like a god damn loser. “Lovely to see you this fine morning. How was your evening? I hope it was magical.” 

A sharp poke to the side of his ribs stops his rambling, and Adrien winces, rubbing at the spot to stop the ache. ( _God, Mari has hard fucking elbows_.) 

“Need something, Lila?” Marinette asks politely. 

(Her version of politeness isn’t widely accepted by everyone.)

In front of her, Adrien starts to sweat. He can see it clearly: archer draws arrow, finds target, and shoots. Having played a few rounds of Dragon Age with her, he knows that his friend is probably the best expert when it comes to long-range fighting styles, which is her mindset when it comes to all things Lila Rossi.

Lila is silent in response, simply staring at the two with unblinking eyes, which he knows can lead to dry eye and makes a mental note to get her some Johnson & Johnson No Tears Shampoo (plot twist: there’s tears). As a side precaution, he also checks to make sure he’s not naked at school or some other sort of nightmarish event because the last time a girl stared at him that hard, he lost his shirt _pretty_ quick. 

“I just wanted to say hello to my classmates.” Lila has that mega-watt smile and electric expression, all bright and brilliant in a way Adrien only is after twelve rounds with an airbrush and makeup artist. “And make sure everyone had a safe trip in today.” 

Adrien chuckles softly, running a hand through his hair as he tries to think two steps ahead of a girl who’s probably memorized the whole chess game at this point. “Well, we’re all here, so that’s probably all the answers you need.” 

“Are you sure?” Lila leans forward, getting into Adrien’s personal space to get closer to Marinette. “I saw some pictures of your… mode of transportation, Marinette, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

As tactile as Adrien prefers to be, in all the ways that Chat Noir _can be_ , the brush of Lila’s hair against his chest and the press of her thigh against his leaves him shivering in a way he definitely _doesn’t want to be_. It’s like all his sins from the previous day are close enough to suffocate him. 

 _Get away,_ he dares to think. 

But Marinette behind him—Marinette, all firecracker and explosion—surges forward to meet Lila over his shoulder, and suddenly Adrien finds himself as shrinking Switzerland between two armed forces fighting a fucking _Cold War_. It’s worse than taking hits for Ladybug during akuma battles or standing between Chloe before she attacks someone at the mall who denies her discounts—at least then he knows the pain is coming. But here, trapped between a ranger and a rapid fox, he’d rather let them both kill each other before he gets involved. 

 _Get ME away_ , he corrects.

 

> (So let’s review:
> 
> Adrien: Marinette, let me get involved.  
>  Marinette: No.  
>  Adrien: I _want_ to.  
>  Marinette: Fine, here.  
>  Lila: *exists*  
>  Adrien: On second thought—)
> 
>  

“I bet it was better than a helicopter,” Adrien chimes in, voice turning high and squeaky (because his mind is in turmoil, and he doesn’t like being the MAN in the s(m)andwich). “The view must be _incredible_ from the rooftops, right, Mari?” 

Marinette turns her head, glaring at him with lips pursed, but from the quiver in the corner, he can tell that she’s fighting back a smile. Lila clicks her tongue in front of them, unperturbed by her proximity, and he chokes back his own. If it weren’t for the seriousness (read: silliness) of this whole situation, he and Marinette would probably be hiding in a storage closet laughing their asses off right now.

“It was pretty amazing,” Marinette finally admits. She readjusts her grip on her bag, thumbing the strap already worn from months of the same movement—one that shows her raw and happy in a way that only a few get to. “Not my first time traveling that way with Chat Noir, but… I guess it’s different when you’re dating.”

Adrien leans back, brows high in surprise. It’s not something he expected her to say, and for a moment, he almost believes her. 

“I’m sure it’ll be nice… for a while.” Lila finally pulls away and shrugs, arms crossed against her chest like she’s proving a point (but she hasn’t even made one yet???). “I’d hate for something to happen to you though, Marinette. What if he _drops_ you?” 

Adrien gasps, scandalized. “I’d _never_!” 

Both girls turn to look at him in question, so Adrien simply twirls in place and lets out an innocent whistle. Secret identities sometimes require evasive maneuvers, and he has three sure-fire plans in place at all times: 1) make a pun, 2) act stupid, and when all else fails, 3) run away so they can’t catch you. He’s had _tremendous_ success when implementing all of them.

“It’s a good thing I’m not afraid of heights then,” Marinette says flatly, choosing to ignore Adrien’s antics which is probably the wiser thing to do right now. “Besides, I trust Chat Noir more than anyone, and I know he’ll keep me safe.” 

“Still… it just makes me so _worried_.” Lila sighs like she cares, eyes straying to the ground. She seems to unwind in front of them, tenseness fading and leaving her loose and languid. Like linguine. “Chat Noir is always targeted by Hawkmoth, and now everyone knows you’re dating him and…” She manages a small sniffle that’s too loud and dry to be real. “I can’t believe he’d put you in danger like that.” 

Her words cause both and Marinette to stiffen because that’s been their worry since their decision to proceed with this façade since yesterday. In fact, it’s all Adrien thought about last night, tossing and turning with only a handful of hours of sleep, of what this would mean for Marinette and frankly… the rest of Paris.

He knows that Marinette can handle herself but… He fixes his gaze on her, standing pale but strong against the wave that Lila brings in with high tide. He should be worried—he _knows this_ —but all he can think is: _Man, she’s incredible_. 

“The akumas could come after you to get to him,” Lila continues, sniffling dryly again (fakely) but her voice grows louder. Soon, it’s drawing the attention of students passing by on their way to class, lingering along the wall and lockers with eager ears. ( _You’re worse than paparazzi, you piranhas.)_ “You could be _really hurt_ sometime, and I’m just really scared for you.” 

Marinette bristles beside him, and Adrien holds a hand out to hold her back. If he’s going to be involved, he might as well throw everything in and the kitchen sink. 

“You should give the heroes of Paris more credit, with Ladybug being your best friend and all,” Adrien tells Lila as he grabs ahold of Marinette’s hand to tug her forward. She falls into line behind him, unsure of where he’s taking this. “I’m sure Chat Noir’s got a plan in place to protect Marinette.” 

“Just being with her puts him at risk.” Lila sniffles again, and Adrien winces.

(“ _It’s like she actually cares_ ,” Marinette whispers all too gleefully in his ear at a level no one can hear.) 

“Look, if you trust him to protect you and the rest of Paris, then trust that he can protect Marinette.” The corners of his lips tilt into the ghost of a smile, and he cocks his head slightly. “That’s all that matters, right?” he implores. 

Lila doesn’t respond, probably because she can’t think of anything. It’s enough for now, Adrien reckons. 

He breezes past Lila and slips a hand into his bag, pulling out his nasal spray and handing it to her in front of their eavesdropping classmates. “For your cold,” he tells her and at the last minute snatches Marinette’s croissant-laden paper bag from her hand and gives it to the other girl as well. “And breakfast because I’m worried about you too and want you to be healthy.” 

Then Adrien turns and heads to class, Marinette following and purposefully stepping on his heels in revenge. His eyes slide to her, noting the smirk playing at her lips, and tries to catch her thoughts with only a simple glance. 

“I don’t need protecting,” she tells him, gaze forward. She won’t give him the satisfaction. 

“I know.” 

“You owe me another croissant.” 

“I know.”

With nothing else to say, her grip on his hand tightens, fingers twining with his own, and it eases the tension building in his chest. His smile turns genuine, eyes soften, and for the first time since the chaos that ignited yesterday, Adrien accepts the situation for what it is. 

He's involved now. 

 

*

 

It’s not.

Nothing is okay.

A week later finds Adrien drumming his knuckles against his desktop, scanning _Ladyblog_ on the monitor screen in front of him as if the headline will change any second. Much to his disappointment, the text is set in stone, despite his trigger finger on the refresh button and Plagg’s barely muffled snickers from the collar of his shirt.

 

 **BREAKING NEWS: Chat Noir Dating Worst Best Friend** (10,102 views) **  
**_written by Alya Cesaire_

Plagg won’t _stop_ laughing. _  
_

“You could at least pretend to be supportive of me,” he tells the kwami, tone morose. 

At this point, he doesn’t know what good discussing the situation further with the ancient god will do, considering they’re just repeating the same conversation they had when this whole fiasco originally started, albeit a longer way around (read: circle, meet oval). Even with the days of meticulous planning after the initial panic had faded, taking the step to actually _follow through_ with everything still shook him to the core. 

…and Adrien is the only one who realizes just _what deep shit_ he’s actually in (well… besides Plagg, that is). 

Plagg doesn’t try to pretend he isn’t laughing at his Chosen’s disaster. “Hey, it looks like you were right though! Everything’s turning out to be fine. No one’s died yet.” 

“Except my reputation,” Adrien replies with a sigh. “My dignity, my pride, my intelligence. Everything that matters." 

Plagg snorts and rolls his eyes. “Did you actually have any of that to begin with?” 

Adrien’s too tired to argue at this point. Scratch that, he is running on bone-dry exhaustion that lingers like steel chains weighing him down—the mess he’s made, the one teeny-weeny lie he’s told, and the girl who he’s dragged along with the ride. Right now, staring at the story that Alya has _clearly_ put a lot of time into writing just makes things even more _messier_.

 

 **BREAKING NEWS: Chat Noir Dating Worst Best Friend** (76,122 views)

_Written by Alya Cesaire_

 

> Greetings, Ladybloggers!
> 
> Alya here bringing you the latest scoop on everything superheroes in Paris. This week opens with some of the most interesting news to hit the streets since the arrival of Paris’s famed superhero duo over two years ago: Chat Noir, the leather-clad cat hero, has been reportedly secretly dating the worst best friend, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, for nearly two months now, and they never told _anyone_ (including aforementioned Worst Best Friend’s best friend even though best friend has told Worst Best Friend everything about _her_ relationship). 
> 
> Rumors started flying when the duo were spotted as Chat Noir “walked” Dupain-Cheng to school (albeit via rooftops) nearly a week ago with multiple eyewitness reports and pictures that filtered through social media. Upon further investigation, Dupain-Cheng revealed that the pair had been “getting to know each other” during the last few months whenever akumas tried to kill her (you’ve got your hands full with this one, Chat Noir. You’re gonna spend most of your relationship trying to save her from herself. Trust me, it’s the most important thing I’ve learned since this apparently _meaningless_ friendship started). 
> 
> Chat Noir, when asked for comment, told this blogger that Dupain-Cheng was “just a good friend who’s a girl” while trying to maintain some type of professionalism (even though that was shot a _lonnggg_ time ago, let’s be real). But as someone who’s been hearing that excuse from some other apparently “just a friend” parties close to Dupain-Cheng, this blogger knows a scoop when she sees one. The aforementioned “just a friend” source revealed news of the cat hero and civilian’s relationship shortly before their escapades about the city were even reported. 
> 
> Contrary to Chat Noir’s testimony, Dupain-Cheng simply states: “Our relationship is developing, and we really aren’t looking to label anything. Right now, we’re good friends, and we’ll remain good friends no matter what.” 
> 
> Most in Paris are very excited at the prospect of one of their heroes finding his happiness, but not all share the same sentiment. Lila Rossi, a close friend of Ladybug herself, says, “I’m scared that being with Chat Noir is going to put Marinette in danger, and he doesn’t even seem to care. And I don’t know if I trust someone like that to protect me if they’re willing to put civilians at risk.” 
> 
> Rossi is not the only one who has this opinion. A local poll conducted in May showed that 66% of Paris citizens express some concern with Ladybug and Chat Noir’s actions as so-called “Heroes of Paris” due to the fact that it’s been two years since Hawkmoth started wreaking havoc on the city, and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight to the fight. 
> 
> Ladybug and Chat Noir were unable to be reached for a comment at this time. 
> 
> _This story is still updating. Please check back for more details as this blogger uncovers the truth from Worst Best Friend with the lure of croissants and video games_. 

 

“Why’d you tell that journalist she’s ‘just a friend’?” Plagg wonders aloud. “Thought you two decided to _actually_ date.” 

Adrien shrugs. “Instinct. I panicked.” He keeps reading, and a small part wonders if the other “just a friend” source reported in the article is _him_ (Adrien, not Chat Noir), but he can’t imagine _why_ Alya would call him that. 

Plagg, who’s been intensely reading the article over his shoulder, narrows his eyes in in suspicion. “This Marinette girl _really_ likes croissants, doesn’t she?” 

A bark of laughter falls from Adrien’s lips. “Yeah, she does.” He smiles wryly to himself, neatly able to pinpoint the dark-haired girl with her weapon of choice nearly every day this week. “She reminds me of Ladybug—always gotta have her croissant in the morning, or she bites my head off.” 

He turns to look at Plagg, still smiling. Plagg simply stares back, looking for all the world like he’d rather be dead. “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” the kwami tells him before flying back towards his cheese hold in the corner of the room. 

“I should probably go visit Marinette,” Adrien states as he swivels around in circles in his desk chair. “See how she’s fairing with Alya finally posting that article. I imagine it hasn’t been easy for her.” 

And it _hasn’t_ —not for either of them, but especially not for Marinette as she suffers the backlash first hand because not a lot of people can manage to track down Chat Noir to give him grief. The only saving grace is that at least Hawkmoth hadn’t caught on, else Adrien would imagine they’d be seeing plenty of akumas gearing up to take on one _extremely competent_ Marinette Dupain-Cheng. (He imagines that if she got a hold of a Miraculous, then his and Ladybug’s job might become a hell of a lot easier.)

…speaking of Ladybug. 

In the week since his life went to hell, there’s been little interaction between Chat Noir and the red-and-black spotted hero, and it’s a time when he’s been _desperate_ to talk to her. Perhaps she’d have an idea (read: a _good_ one) on how best to handle this situation. But between acting as a buffer for Marinette as Adrien at school with their classmates (read: lying Lila and curious Alya)  and devising their battle strategy as Chat Noir, he hasn’t found the time to try to track down his partner and get in contact with her. 

The few times he’s managed to steal away, it just ends with him running across rooftops searching aimlessly for any sign of his charismatic, beautiful partner—to a point that it’s almost _worrying_. Even though his attempt at a relationship with his first love didn’t work, Ladybug has and always will be one of his best friends, and the fact that she’s seemingly disappeared without a trace is the cause for some concern. If it wasn’t for the few pictures that Alya’s managed to snap in the late evening of Ladybug on patrol, Adrien is _this close_ to calling up Master Fu and setting up a search party. 

“Plagg, we’re going,” he announces, pushing up from his desk with a spark alit in his green eyes. The thrum to _do something_ flares up something warm and bright in his chest, and if there’s one thing he’s certain of, it’s that he needs to talk to someone—whether it’s Marinette or Ladybug. 

Plagg glances up from around the cheese wheel he summoned from somewhere behind the television. (Adrien still isn’t sure of all the places that his kwami has sequestered Camembert around the house, but when he’s sure he’s close to finding them all, he smells rotten cheese and _knows_ that there’s strongholds that even Plagg has forgotten about.) 

“No,” Plagg says. 

“What?” 

“No, you’re going to just… stay there.” Gesturing to the desk, Plagg’s eyes flash wildly; Adrien knows that if looks could kill, he’d be a pile of cinder. “Let me eat.”

“You’ve been eating all day!” he protests, and he knows that for a _fact_ because he’d been forced to load his pockets, bag, and _socks_ with extra Camembert because Plagg wouldn’t let them leave this morning (read: through a tantrum until the threat of being late loomed high enough for Adrien to cave) without it. 

Sometimes Adrien is surprised that this kwami is supposed to be the ancient god of destruction incarnate and not a housecat that likes to fuck with him.

“I said no,” Plagg tells him in a frosty tone. 

Normally, Adrien might fight him on it, but like he said before, he’s just too tired right now to even try. With a sigh, he collapses back into his desk chair and swivels back around to stare at the computer monitor before spitefully clicking the reset button, like this time it will disperse like smoke to the wind.

 

 **BREAKING NEWS: Chat Noir Dating Worst Best Friend** (102,304 views)

_Written by Alya Cesaire_

  

At this point, there’s little that he can do, and he has to learn to accept that.

The secret’s out: Chat Noir is dating Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng has to deal with the fall-out. And it’s Adrien’s fault she’s been put there. 

What’s a guy to do?

  

*

  

Later that night, once the sun dips below the Paris horizon and the only thing in the skyline is the looming moon overhead, Plagg relents and allows Adrien to slip out of the mansion as Chat Noir. Stars are dim in the harsh glow of city lights, so there’s little he can do but travel by way of moonlight. 

It’s a shame, Adrien thinks, because his mother used to tell him that stars were his friends, and it always made him feel a little less lonely. But then she was gone, and the only stars Gabriel’s ever introduced him to are people like Ralph Lauren, Marc Jacobs, and Giorgio Tortellini (read: or is it Armani? Honestly, at this point, Adrien’s met too many designers, and they all sound like pasta). He’s sure the designers are wonderful people, but they never return his pen pal requests so what’s the point of even _knowing them_?!

It isn’t long before he spots a flash of red in the dark shadow haunting a spire of Saint Ambroise Church, and he can’t even try to hide the smile that stretches across his face like a shooting star. For the first time in over a week, Adrien feels a sense of calm fill him to the brim, and the world finally settles from the rough waters he’s been sailing. 

“Lovely evening to see you, my lady,” Adrien says as he dips into a low bow, breathless from the hour he’s spent dancing over rooftops to find her. 

Ladybug laughs, standing tall against the backdrop of the dark, heavy sky, clouds hanging low on the horizon. “Been a while, chaton. I’ve been looking for you.” She smiles that achingly familiar, _easy_ smile reserved only for him, and that’s when he knows that everything is okay. 

“You have no idea,” Adrien tells her honestly, snapping his baton into the harness against his back. Usually he’s keep it out, but the night is quiet from akumas and it doesn’t seem like the time for sparring practice. “It’s been a crazy fucking week.” 

Laughter shaking her shoulders, she skips forward and envelopes him in a tight embrace. “Seems like it. I saw Alya’s article on the _Ladyblog_ this afternoon and wanted to make sure you were okay. Looks like everything got pretty complicated pretty fast, huh?” 

“Again: _you have no idea_.” 

Instead of responding, Ladybug hands him a coffee cup, and a heaviness settles deep in his chest. He cradles it between his hands, enjoying the warm that seeps in through his suit, and he sips it slowly. The entire time he can feel Ladybug’s eyes on him, something soft gleaming in them, that it just lets him relax in her presence. This is something he hasn’t been able to do all week, practically glued to Marinette’s side as both Adrien and Chat Noir, and he’s now just realizing how much he’s _missed_ his partner. 

“So Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” Ladybug asks as she walks toward the edge of the spire, slipping down to sit against the cool stone. He drops down beside her without a second thought. “What’s the story behind that?” 

“Not much to say,” he tells her lowly, gaze sliding from her to the city. It’s bright tonight, dazzling like a million stars. _Home_ , he dares to think—the first peace he’s found amidst this turmoil. “We’re friends and just decided to take the next step. See if there’s something more, you know?” 

The fact of the matter is this: he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to tell Ladybug the truth (actually, he and Marinette never discussed it). But he doesn’t want to lie to his partner so… where does he stand now? 

“I…talked to Marinette, by the way.” Ladybug crosses her arms against her chest, settling back against his shoulder, her warm breath prickling goosebumps down his neck. “Before I came to see you.” 

“Really?” His tone turns frantic, eyes glinting wildly in the moonlight. The panic and worry from earlier threatens to choke him as questions start spilling out into the open air between them. “Has she seen the article? Is she okay? Did she say anything—” 

“Relax, chaton,” Ladybug tries to reassure him, and a part of Adrien is struck by how _actually worried_ he is for Marinette. He’s always known that she’s one of the most important people in his life, but in the last week alone, she’s grown to something _more_. (To a point that it almost terrifies him.) “She’s perfectly fine. She misses you though.”

“I saw her this morning,” he says in confusion. (Just to double check, he glances at his coffee cup in suspicion, wondering if there’s some hallucinogen in it.)

“People miss their partners, you know,” Ladybug tells him with a knowing smile. 

A smirk stretches across his face as he turns to look at her. “I mean, I missed you too, Ladybug.”

“No, I meant _Marinette_ —” _Annnddd_ his face turns red. 

“She’s my fri—girlfriend though.” Adrien leans forward and pokes her cheek with his index finger, anything to distract her from his burning face. “ _You’re_ my partner.” 

“You can call other people ‘partners’, Chat—”

“No, not to me. You’re my partner, and she’s my girlfriend, and we’ll leave it at that.” He wants to make that distinction clear. That’s all there is to it, after all.

“Okay,” Ladybug tells him, like that’s supposed to settle it, but it comes off as a question. He doesn’t know how to answer though, so he doesn’t.

“Are you upset?” he finally finds the courage to ask. “That I’m dating a civilian?  You saw what Lila said...” 

(Endangering civilians has never been a goal on his bucket list, but since he started fake-dating Marinette, he’s added it close to the top so that it looks like he’s accomplished _something_ in his short life if Ladybug happens to kill him.) 

Ladybug’s lips tilt into a small frown. “I mean, it’s not ideal… but…” She shakes her head. "Lila's a bit of a bitch, to be honest, but she does have some good points."

“I know... It was sort of… spur-of-the-moment,” he tells her, wary eyes tracking her movements. But she just settles into him, the heat of her body against his own making his pulse quicken. “We didn’t really have time to weigh all the risks and benefits.” 

“How romantic. You make it sound like a business transaction.” 

“ _Oohh_ , there was nothing romantic about it.” Adrien shivers as he thinks back to Lila, Marinette with a croissant, and him panicking like an error 404 message. “It was mainly spite.” 

She cast him a sideways glance, a small smile curving upon her lips. His heart does that fluttering thing it does when dark-haired beauties look at him like that, and he swallows a thick lump in the back of his throat, desperate to choke it down. Instead, he thinks about Marinette and this stupid plan that’s Paris Official™ and whether he should tell Ladybug the truth.

“You’ve got a good heart, Chat Noir,” she tells him suddenly. Her head rests on his shoulder, eyes slipping close like she’s somewhere _safe_ , and doesn’t wait for his response before she continues. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt because of this.” 

He presses his lips into a resolute expression. “You think Marinette could hurt me?” he asks her wryly. 

She opens one eye to look at him, sharp and considering. “I’m just scared you’re both in over your head.” 

“And…?” he eggs her on, trying to get her to say the words he _knows_ she’s thinking. 

_(And I think you should break it off.)_

“And I think you guys are smart enough to figure things out.” Ladybug shrugs half heartedly. “I trust you both. Do I think you know what you’re doing? _No_ , but then again, does anyone ever?” 

Adrien searches her face for a moment longer before he proceeds, hesitant and cautious, “So… you’re happy for us?” 

Ladybug seems to chew over his words, sighing softly. “I just want you to be happy. You mean a lot to me.” 

“Okay,” Adrien says, sitting up a little straighter, a little taller, like this was exactly what he needed to hear. “You support this.” 

“Even though it’s stupid, I kind of have to.” 

Adrien’s relief is almost palpable. “Thank god.”

Quiet settles over the two of them as they stare at the sleeping city below, and Adrien lets himself finally _finally finally_  (read:  _FINALLY)_ believe that things will be okay—with Ladybug, with Lila, with Marinette, and with Paris.

 

 

(Something gnaws at him though, constricting his throat and coiling in his gut until he finally voices his concern. “You want Marinette to be happy too, right? Not just me?” 

Ladybug quirks a brow in confusion, wondering why he’s asking this. “I don’t really care?” 

“But you care about me?” At Ladybug’s blank stare, he runs a hand through his hair, frantic with bubbling hysteria. “You like her just as much, right?” 

“You’re my partner, Chat Noir. You’re _always_ gonna come first.” 

Her words don’t reassure him. With a loud groan, he leans forward, and Ladybug squawks at the unexpected movement that sends her nearly toppling off the roof. She pinwheels in place before turning to him with a thunderous expression. 

“What’s with you? You could’ve killed me!” 

_Son of a bitch…_

“I can’t believe my favorite two people _hate_ each other,” he mourns morosely.

_Mari and My lady…. Where did I go wrong?_

Ladybug punches him.

It’s going to be a long night.)

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Media coverage is escalated, and Adrien just wants his fucking coffee and for Marinette to be a LITTLE transparent for once in her life.

It’s a beautiful Friday when Nino almost kills him.

“I feel for Marinette, you know,” he drawls out as he slips into the seat beside Adrien while the latter robotically nibbles on a croissant, lost in thought after a sleepless night chasing down a hamster-themed akuma. “I’d hate to be her right now.”

“Hmm?” Adrien asks, only half-listening as he eyes the coffee cup that his best friend had placed on the table in front of them. It’s just the beginning of their lunch period, and coffee is godsend that Nino has delivered, his own personal miracle. He wonders how best to proceed: devour it or savor it?

Mornings after long akuma battles are always a struggle, so when Adrien trudges to school at seven in the morning, he requires some sort of sustenance to function. His friends just chalk up his occasional mishaps due to the chaotic schedule his father is well-known for changing last minute, so at least there’s always coffee or baked goods waiting for him. He honestly doesn’t know what he’d do without Nino, Alya, or Marinette.

(Probably die.)

(…If the last few weeks have taught him anything, at least, about what happens if he’s left to his own devices.)

“I’m still _super_ happy for her, don’t get me wrong,” Nino continues. “But did you see the news this morning? I think Alya’s doing a great job trying to be unbiased and neutral in all this after her first article, but there’s only so much you can do, you know?”

Adrien finally reaches for the coffee, basking in the warmth oozing from the cup and into the cold skin of his hands, soothing a quiver he can’t quite shake from this morning. A single sip, and a splash of technicolor explodes on his tongue, and it’s only pure willpower that stops him from moaning in pure euphoria.

“This is _good_ coffee, Nino. Where the hell did you get this?”

Nino blinks hard, separating himself from the one-sided conversation he’s been having with an Adrien who’s too tired to pay attention. He knows it’s a habit of his, to let his friends drift to background noise when his Stress-O-Meter windshields into the red zone, and he’s trying to get better at it, honest, but there’s only so much he can do with an hour of sleep under his belt.

“I got it from Glinda’s!” Nino tells him. “It’s the new café across from the park. You know, the one that used to be the sketchy place that sold things that looked like breakfast burritos but smelled like vinegar and bananas?”

“Oh yeah.” He sighs wistfully. “I miss that place.”

“Honest to God, it was heaven on Earth.” Nino slams his hand on the table to cement his point. “I stand by that fact.”

“Amen,” Adrien joins. With a smile, Nino shoulder bumps Adrien in amusement, and the touch seems to settle something in him. Now that he has coffee and comfort, his day is getting a whole lot better.

“Anyway,” Nino says, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms out over the back. “It just sucks for Mari. She deserves the best, and I’m glad she found that with Chat Noir, but it just _sucks_ that she’s on the receiving end of everything.”

Adrien hums in agreement as he takes another sip of coffee. “Nino, I think I’m in love with Glinda. When can we go see her?”

Laughing at his friend’s antics, Nino lets a smile worm its way onto his face. “We can swing by after class. She’s got this wicked iced coffee that reminds me of apple pie. You’d like it.”

“You have literally saved my life today.” Gratefulness bubble up in his chest as he fervently pledges himself to Nino, overcome with so much emotion that he can’t put words to it. With this level of incoherency and simple satisfaction, he would probably sell his soul to anyone for more. “I desperately needed this. Thank you.”

“At least you’re doing better than Marinette.” He presses his lips into a thin line, that train of thought obviously headed elsewhere. “I was a little worried about you two this morning, but I consider this progress. There’s a smile, and no one’s dead.”

Adrien frowns at his words, stirring to life from his coffee-induced catatonic state. “What do you mean?”

His friend crosses his arms against his chest, a single finger tapping his elbow as he meanders through this minefield. “You know that theory that if someone seems too perfect, then they obviously have dark secrets that they never want to see the light of day? And with you, I always pegged you as a serial killer or a masochist.”

“Nino.”

“My money’s on the masochist. You seem like someone who takes a lot of pleasure in bad situations.”

“Nino.”

“Wait.” Nino furrows his brow together in question. “Is it the serial killer?”

“No, no, back up.” Adrien pushes the coffee away (read: RIP), leaning forward with his hands on the table and pressing closer to his friend. The last few bits of conversation drift away like smoke lost to the wind, and a sense of unease fills his core. “What’s going on with Marinette?”

Nino blinks slowly, trying to catch up to him. “She’s in a bad mood because of the articles and news this morning, you know?”

“No, I don’t.” He takes a deep breath and then says firmly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Dude, what the fuck? Have you been living under a rock today?” Nino turns hard and curious. Adrien knows that they’re both pondering the idea of him ignoring the misfortunes of one of their closest friends. In any other situation, it would probably be an unforgiveable offense because they take things like loyalty pretty seriously (but Adrien only has two moods right now: sleep and coffee, and it’s hard to deal with anything else).

“I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast today.”

Nino nods towards the croissant in front of them. “Isn’t… that your breakfast?”

Adrien shrugs helplessly. Like he knows.

“Dude, Paris is basically _tearing her apart_.” Nino’s eyes are heavy, filled with sympathy for their friend, and his voice turns uncharacteristically soft and serious. “Some newscaster was being shit on live television this morning about her.”

“How so?”

“He was going off about how this ‘young, naïve girl’ is ‘distracting the hero of Paris from doing his duty to the city.’” He slumps in his seat and pulls his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it to look up the articles he’s referring too. “Which, first off, is so stupid because being a Hero of Paris isn’t some elected position which would actually entail a quota of responsibility.” He snorts, shaking his head, and hands the phone to Adrien. “Even if it was, they shouldn’t expect much out of anyone with a Miraculous if they put the same expectations on them as they do their politicians.”

Adrien coughs, torn between laughing uproariously and trying to find some form of defense for people like Andre Bourgeois. “You’re not wrong.”

“Damn straight, I am,” Nino says decisively. “I dare you to give the name of _one_ politician that’s done anything about Hawkmoth in the last six months besides giving Ladybug and Chat Noir shit about not catching him.”

Adrien laughs, genuine and loud. “There isn’t.”

“My point exactly.”

Nino’s point hits something soft and vulnerable in Adrien—something that makes traitorous tears prick to life in his eyes. For so long, he’s felt that he’s fighting a war on two fronts, between Paris and Hawkmoth, as the years creep by and the akumas prosper and Hawkmoth remains a mystery that the city longs to hide in its shadow. As the last couple of months trickle by and public opinion dips and trust turns fragile, he hasn’t even _thought_ about placing the weight of the situation on anyone else.

 _It’s not fair_ has never really been a driving theme of is, and neither has he ever heard Ladybug make a mention. When they had accepted their roles as Paris’s protectors, they took on the mantle of Hawkmoth and the fight against him—the idea of politicians and government and police has never actually been a factor. Perhaps because they don’t have the capabilities to fight an even battle while he and Ladybug and the rest of the Miraculous crew do. It’s why he takes the criticism and pushback to heart because they aren’t wrong when it comes to Chat Noir and Ladybug.

But when it comes to Marinette? They aren’t allowed to _touch_ her. He won’t _let_ them.

They’ve talked about this: the media presence and Hawkmoth potentially using her as a target. But it’s different when it’s actually here and present, so much more heavy than they’d originally thought…. Chat Noir’s going to be buying her a _lot_ of fabric as an apology.

“I’m sure it’ll be taken care of,” he tells Nino with a knowing smile, trying to figure out who’s going to have to talk to (read: threaten) as Chat Noir.

After he takes care of Marinette, after all. His mother didn’t raise no hooligan.

Nino just looks at him. “Listen, I know Marinette’s amazing and can take care of herself, but it’s ridiculous that she has to. I’m not seeing Chat Noir doing any interviews trying to smooth things over.”

“I’m sure he has a good reason,” Adrien says firmly, making a mental note to call a few reporters after class.

“I don’t know.” Nino frowned. “Alya’s tried to reach out, but Chat Noir is nowhere to be found. Ladybug just kept telling everyone that they’re managing things on their own. It sounds like a total cop out if you ask me.”

“Maybe he’s just sleeping,” Adrien grumbles. “Or wishing he was.”

“I love my dude, you know I do.” Nino sighs and clasps his hands behind his head. “He’s probably my favorite, and… don’t tell Alya that, but you have to admit that he’s not handling this well— _actually not at all_ —and Marinette’s paying the price for it.” There’s a shrug, a shake, and it just makes unease curdle in the pit of Adrien’s stomach. “It’s not just the fact that dating him puts her at risk, but it also opens her up to everything else that they deal with.”

“I think they knew that when they agreed to start this whole thing,” Adrien says. He squirms in his seat, suddenly feeling like he’s under interrogation, even though Nino has no way of knowing just how involved in that conversation he truly was.

It’s funny because these conversations never get any easier. With Marinette, it had been simple to figure out the messy knot work they’d inevitably tied themselves into. Ladybug—the person he’d _actually_ been concerned with—had responded with the grace and charisma that he knew she possessed. Nino, on the other hand, makes things a little bit different. He’s inexplicably _Adrien’s_ in the way that Marinette and Ladybug have never been. His best friend, his closest confidante, the first one to reach out with a friendly smile and helpful hand to give him a chance when no one else would. If _Nino_ is the one raising concerns….

( _Everyone has concerns, Adrien. YOU have concerns. This whole situation is very CONCERNING.)_

“Maybe, but there’s saying things and then actually dingo them.” Nino tugs at his shirt sleeves and clears his throat. “This… I can’t tell Marinette this to her face because she’s so happy with Chat Noir, but this isn’t pretend. This is real, and it affects so much more than just them. I know the principal had to call her to the office to discuss the media issue because reporters keep trying to get into the school to talk to her.”

Nino’s words cause a shockwave to flow through Adrien.

Reporters? Principal? _What?!_

With Marinette, when they were first setting the parameters for their fake girlfriend/boyfriend contract (read: half-haphazard mess created by a boy who didn’t know what he was doing and the girl who doesn’t know how to walk away), they’d agreed that if it got to be too much—the pressure, the strain, the impact—then it’d be simple to end this. So Adrien doesn’t know why he’s hearing about this all second hand.

“Seriously?” he asks, temper starting to flare, even as he fights to keep it under control.

“Yeah,” Nino says, and something in Adrien’s expression makes him roll his eyes. “Alya was talking to me about it.”

“Why didn’t Marinette say anything to me?” His words seem to make Nino suspicious from the way he levels his gaze, everything turning stone cold quiet between the two of them for a few moments.

“…Probably because it’s not your business?” Nino tells him carefully.

“Of course it is,” Adrien says in a rush, imploring his friend to understand. “ _I’m dating her!_ I should know if someone’s trying to _get_ to her, or if people are stalking her or some other crazy shit. How can I protect her if she doesn’t tell me this stuff?”

Nino simply stares at him.

“What?” Adrien pipes up helpfully, trying to get his friend to kick it into second gear.

“I’m sorry. You’re dating _who_ now?”

…

…

Oh.

Shit. (Read: FUCK!!)

(Read: Time to die. Nino knows he's Chat Noir now. Fuck!)

Adrien’s cheeks turn a furious shade of red as he tries to find a foothold in a slippery world. “Oh oh, _oh!_ No, I misspoke. I meant that I know _who’s_ dating her…. On a very personal level, so… I should know about this stuff.”

“You know… _who’s_ dating her?” Nino asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Everyone does,” Adrien bites out. Every muscle in his body is tense, and he isn’t sure if he wants to run or fight (but there’s really no fighting anyone. It’s Nino, who could take him out in a heartbeat because he knows his weak spots).

“But you know him on a… _personal_ level.” God, nothing gets by Nino, does it?

“Yes, very intimate.” Might as well tell somewhat of the truth, right? He supposes that he owes his best friend that much, at least.

“Oh my god.” From the way Nino’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open in shock, lips curving up into the ghost of an excited smile, Adrien _knows_ that his friend has guessed absolutely nothing correctly. “Chat Noir’s your ex-boyfriend.”

Adrien swallows. For some reason this conclusion keeps coming up, and if it’s as believable as it seems to be, why didn’t he just fucking go with that excuse when he panicked the first time? Chloe might’ve murdered him, but at least it’s stop the countless questions and almost murder of one very innocent Adrien Agreste.

“Absolutely not!” He shakes his head and laughs (because if not, he’d probably cry and panic and die, not sure about the order of that, but it seems pretty close). “Wrong way to intimacy there, Nino. We’re not heading down the track.”

“Oh, I get it.” Nino’s eyes gleam with delight as he taps his chin in thought.

“No, you really don’t.” Adrien’s mouth is dry. He’s trying very hard not to freak out and think about moving to Mumbai or Barcelona where Nino could never find him. Or perhaps somewhere on the coast because Nino can’t swim.

Nino looks up suddenly and grins widely. “No, I’ve connected the dots.”

“You’ve connected _shit_ ,” Adrien says with a nervous laugh.

“So you’re Chat Noir’s… ex-friend-with-benefits?”

Adrien waves his hands in front of him, gesturing ineffectually at nothing and everything at the same time. “No. We’re just friends!”

Nino clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “That’s what you said about Kagami, and then we caught you in the closet with her—"

“Do we really have to discuss that at this time?” Adrien cuts in incredulously, voice coming out hoarse and strained. “In front of my coffee? In front of my croissant?”

“Dude, I’m just trying to make sense of what you said,” Nino says.

“It was a mistake.” Adrien doesn’t really know what else to say, doesn’t know how to beg for Nino to drop this line of conversation. They’re dancing the thin line between the mask, one that Adrien tries to stay away from at all costs if it doesn’t involve Ladybug, and Nino is so close to pushing him over the precipice that he doesn’t _realize_. “It just slipped out. Please don’t read too much into it.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then: “Oh, I get it.” Adrien groans because he doesn’t know how much more he can handle of his friend’s conclusions. “You’re jealous.”

“Nino, for the last time, I’m not jealous of Marinette for dating Chat Noir,” he says, voice gruff, and all he wants to do is sink into the seat and disappear forever. “I don’t like him that way.”

“No, you’re jealous of Chat Noir for dating Marinette.” Nino starts to laugh at his own words, all warm and good-natured, like he doesn’t know the twinge that shocks Adrien’s heart. “You like her.”

“ _What_?!”

“This explains _so much_ actually.”

“No! Like what?”

“Why you’re so invested in their relationship.” Nino leans back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest as he stares at Adrien for longer than necessary, so certain of himself this time that Adrien’s pretty sure that nothing he says will convince him otherwise. “Also why you’re so protective of Marinette. And it’s obvious you haven’t fully accepted that, and that’s why you told the whole class that Marinette was dating Chat Noir when Lila was lying about it.”

“No,” Adrien sums up helpfully. “That was me being an idiot.”

“That’s something you excel at in everything you do though,” Nino chimes in, and Adrien has three articles and the annual review from his father to prove his friend otherwise. “This whole thing is you trying to get them to break up because if their secret got out, you knew everyone would react that way, right? Perk of being an Agreste and growing up in the eyes of the media.”

“You make me sound like Lila.”

“You’re a lot alike actually,” Nino wheezes, like it’s the funniest distinction in the world.

Adrien? Adrien’s just _offended_.

“None of that is true though.”

“Don’t worry, dude,” Nino reassures him. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Adrien blinks hard. “Nino.”

“If only you’d been a few years earlier.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Nino rolls his eyes, fixing him with a stare. “Look, for what it’s worth, they’re probably gonna break up soon.”

“Huh?” That’s news to Adrien. (Read: Like most things in his life, he thought he’d been dating Marinette perfectly. Maybe he should have her submit an annual review too, like his father?)

“Have you ever actually _seen_ them on date yet?” Nino tells him. “Heard anything else other than him taking her to school? There’s literally nothing to their relationship than what everyone’s been saying. Hawkmoth hasn’t even taken advantage of it yet!”

(There’s probably something concerning if Hawkmoth is the measure of his relationship.)

The more Adrien thinks about it though, the more he finds truth in what Nino’s saying. Fake dating, in its entirety, is already a bad idea, but what takes root next has the potential to be even more. Even though they put forth the effort to maintain the façade and try to make it look like they’re two people who are helplessly in love, so much so that Paris and Hawkmoth himself won’t tear apart, it’s obvious to Adrien that they need to be more convincing.

They have to find a way to _mean_ it.

 

(Adrien tries very hard not to think about Marinette, hunched over her designs as she furiously sketches, smelling of flowers and happiness. He tries very hard not to think about the pink _oh_ of her lips when inspiration strikes, the fierce glow of her eyes when she sets her mind to something, the sound of her voice when she whispers during his nightly visits.

Oh god… he doesn’t want to _actually_ date Marinette.

…Right?!)

 

“Maybe they’re just taking things easy until everything settles down,” Adrien suggests softly, mind already buzzing on how to be a better fake boyfriend.

“I still think he’s a crappy boyfriend,” Nino reiterates, but makes no other move to argue. “You’d do a much better job.”

 _Don’t worry_ , Adrien thinks to himself, turning back to his coffee and croissant with a determined fire burning in his chest. _I’m gonna try_.

 

(He tries, as Adrien, to talk to her sometime between classes and the handful of lulls between Madame Rousseaux’s lecture. But somehow she manages to sleep through most of the afternoon, and the few times he managed to get a word in edge-wise, she murmured something along of “hamsters and cats,” so Adrien figured it was better to leave her to her dreams about animals and broach the topic later… as Chat Noir.

It can’t hurt, right? Marinette did say she wanted Adrien to be less involved, and raising concern with Nino only resulted in the latter labeling him with a Big Fat Crush, so honestly…. What other choices does he have?

But from the way Marinette curls up in her seat, head dropped low against the table and sleep-tinged voice murmuring nothings in response to his greeting, he can see the exhaustion that hangs on her bones. Whatever is going on—the media, the threat of Hawkmoth, all the attention that comes with being a superhero’s girlfriend—it’s clear it’s taking its toll on her.

Which is what Adrien never in the first place.

It hurts him more than he wants to admit.)

 

 

*

 

 

“Why didn’t you tell me people were following you home?” Adrien—as Chat Noir—asks that evening, staring out Marinette’s window with a grimace, eyes trained on the paparazzi currently hovering on the sidewalk across from the bakery.

“I didn’t really see a reason too,” she says, hunkered down at her desk as she pours over a sketch she’d started the day before. Last minute corrections are all that’s needed before the designer can begin crafting, and Adrien takes great joy in watching her work. But right now, unfortunately, there’s more important things at work, like Marinette’s privacy and rumors, Paris and paparazzi, akumas and superheroes.

Life’s never easy if you’re a teenager growing up in Paris circa Hawkmoth-era.

He raises an eyebrow at her, disbelief set in his expression. “Because I’m your boyfriend?”

Marinette snorts. “No, you’re not.”

“Well I’m the closest thing you’ve got,” he snaps, startling her from her work-induced reverie. He didn’t mean to bite back, but he’s so tired of hearing that from everyone whenever he gets a _tad_ protective (read: overbearing) about Marinette’s safety. “Besides, they’re doing this because of me. It’s my job to be the hero, so put me to work.”

She sighs and turns back to her work, erasing a few marks and ticking down a few more notes. “I already told you that I can take care of myself. A few cameras aren’t going to break me, Chat Noir.”

“God, you’re so frustrating sometimes, you know that?” He shakes his head as she squawks indignantly at his response. “You’re _just_ like Ladybug, and not in the good way, and that pisses me off so much. Come on, Marinette, just for once let someone help you.”

“You wanna help me?” Even though she doesn’t look at him, Adrien feels the weight of her attention digging daggers under his skin. “Then stand there and don’t move.” She grabs a tape measure from the corner of her desk and meanders towards him with a purpose.

“What’re you doing?”

“My job,” she says, and there’s really no room for argument.

Lips pressed into a thin line, Marinette unravels the tape measure and starts looping it around his upper arm, tugging it snug against his suit and noting the number before sliding it down to his elbow and taking a measurement there. As a model, Adrien’s been through this process many times, and it’s not the first time she’s taken measurements from him as a framework for whatever piece she’s working on, but it’s the first time the atmosphere is wrought with tension instead of laughter.

He’s not sure why it bothers him so much because it really shouldn’t. (He’d try to drop more puns to try to make her smile, but he filled his quota last night with the akuma to a point where he doesn’t want to even hear them anymore.)

His eyes stay glued to her face as she moved to his chest, hands making quick work. They methodically trace the contours of his body—from his waist to hips, thigh and calves—a designer in the midst of a masterpiece (…of her design, not himself).

(Although…)

(…Not worth it. Stop that, Adrien.)

“Are you going to tell me what’s really bothering you?” Marinette asks suddenly, breaking the silence that’s almost tangible from the way it’d been slowly building.

“I’m doing a shitty job of being your boyfriend, and Paris agrees,” he replies, knowing that there’s no use trying to hide it from her. Her fingers brush the skin of his neck as she adjusts the tape measure against his shoulder. “I should be doing more.”

“This whole situation is so fucked up, you _do_ know that, right?” Marinette yanks the tape measure tight, cinching it in a way that makes him catch his breath before he can say something stupid. “I’ve got a best friend who bounces between being angry at me or being way too curious for her own good. I’ve got a stupid paparazzi that keeps trying to sneak into the bakery, and I think Papa might call the police one of these days. I’ve got Adrien who’s…” Her voice trails off into something soft, and it stirs a warmth in the pit of his stomach.

“Who’s what?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she mutters under her breath, taking the last measurement and jotting it down in her notebook. “It’s too late anyway.”

He stares at her for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip. “Do you always passive aggressively measure your problems?”

“I don’t have any problems,” she says as she throws the tape measure across the room and back onto her desk.

“Yeah, that’s doing a _lot_ to convince me otherwise.”

She shakes her head but makes no move to respond. There’s a soft sigh that falls from her lips as she drops the notebook on her chaise, wraps her arms around herself, and turns her back to him to stare out the window into the semi-quiet night. It’s not just him strung-up and tangled; Marinette’s even more frazzled but in that fragile where she doesn’t want to admit that something’s wrong.

Something about the tension that hangs heavy between them makes him feel like this is about more than a fake relationship and stalking photographers and the danger of Hawkmoth on the horizon.

Marinette looks like a Ladybug trying to protect herself. He just doesn’t know from what… or who.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there when you need me,” he tells her in a low voice. “I’m worried about you.”

“And I’m worried about _you_ ,” she says suddenly, shock bolting through him. “I already told you I could take care of myself, and I appreciate you being worried, but I can _tell_ how this is affecting you.” Slowly, she turns to face him with those inquisitive, dancing eyes of hers. “I can tell by the way you fight, and the way you look right now: you’re running yourself ragged worrying about everything.”

“I am not,” he mutters indignantly. (He makes a mental note to re-think his skin care routine. He must have bags again.)

“If this is too much for you,” she starts to say, but he interrupts with two hands on her shoulders, gripping tight.

“I know what I’m doing,” he tells her, and for the first time he believes it. “It just kills me that you’re dealing with everything on your own. Boyfriends—real or fake—don’t let their girlfriends—also real or fake—deal with the burden of public scrutiny alone.”

“I can handle that,” she returns, full of fire.

“One of these days that stubbornness is going to be your downfall, Marinette.”

“I’d like to see it try.”

Her answer makes a laugh sputter to life in his chest, like a dead engine finally turning over. “D-Did you just challenge _yourself_?”

“I can challenge whoever the fuck I want,” Marinette says to him, lips curved up in the ghost of a smile. “I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and no one—”

Adrien can’t _handle_ her.

….

It goes like this:

Marinette’s mouth falls open to say more, but words are lost as Adrien hands are around her neck and pulling up against him. She moves like she’s weightless, as if gravity isn’t trying it’s damndest to slow them down. His fingers cradle the sides of her face and thread through her hair, which is falling out of that messy bun, eyes dark and wet as they lock gazes.

Adrien almost starts as he realizes just how close they are, where the distance between their lips is not measured in inches but breathes. It’s so easy to fall forward into her orbit.

In the end, it’s Marinette who surges forward and takes what she wants, just like always, so damn deadly in all sense of the world. She's kissing, god damn, he's _kissing_ Marinette Dupain-Cheng. It’s a little messy, too much tongue and teeth, but her lips are so soft and everything is warm. While Adrien has kissed some girls before, this one is new and different, and it’s instantly his _favorite_.

Eventually they pull away, noses brushing every so softly and lips slightly lingering, until they’re standing straight and tall, like they hadn’t just been pulled away by the other’s hands.

“What was that for?” Marinette asks between heavy breathes.

“We need to convince Paris we’re actually in a relationship,” he tells her between his own gasps for air to soothe his burning lungs and racing heart. “They won’t believe us we are until we give them something to write about.”

“I might have an idea or two about that,” Marinette says as a sharp smile slips onto her face.

 _Oh boy_.


End file.
